The White Tree of Hogwarts: Part Two
by atoz
Summary: The Fellowship broken, its members now venture in different directions, conflicted by doubts about the trustworthiness of allies as well as the evil within themselves. The continuation of an LOTRHP crossover. NEW CHAPTER IS UP!
1. Chapter 1

PART TWO

Chapter 1

Unfamiliar Territory

"Look at it, there…Be still, it will see you!"

"Have you ever been this close to one before?"

"No, never…he looks to be a fierce one, does he not?"

"I wonder if it would charge at us like an angry bear if we approached…"

"This is not an experiment! We are capturing it and returning it to the camp."

"His tent is up yonder, I can see its tip. There may be another inside."

"Then we must be swift and silent. I shall approach from behind…if it should see me, fire an arrow, but not to kill, merely to distract. If it should attack me, use your best judgment."

Madril crept out of the bushes and approached the Haradrim scout from behind. The running water in front of the man masked the sound of Madril's approach; he stealthily reached out and grabbed the scout, covering his mouth to prevent him from calling out. Then he signaled to his men.

The three excitedly emerged from their hiding places; one disarmed the scout, and then the others raised their weapons. Madril let go of the scout and backed away, raising a dagger. The scout did not attempt to make a sound.

"It looks terrified," Damrod commented, scrutinizing the scout's face.

"We mean you no harm," one of the younger Rangers, Mablung, a protégé of the Captain's, said consolingly. "We only…"

"It cannot understand you," Madril scoffed. "It is stupid, like an animal, and cannot speak our language."

"It can fathom intentions by tone of voice," Mablung retorted.

"It can 'fathom' nothing," Madril said, and he turned toward the encampment, gesturing to it. "Now let us see its tent…"

The scout suddenly jerked, and was poked threateningly by Madril's dagger.

"Something in the tent you do not want us to find, eh?" Madril said with a smile. "Well, let us see, then!"

Madril approached the tent, dagger raised, while the other Rangers kept guard on the scout. He opened the tent flap and his eyes widened.

A beautiful woman, black as the scout and dressed in revealing native clothing, lay sleeping on furs inside the tent. Madril hesitated, then turned toward his men. He opened the tent flap wider so that they could see.

Several jaws dropped; the scout tried to make a move while they were distracted, but one Ranger, Anborn, had sense enough to keep his eyes on the prisoner.

"Get rope," Madril whispered to Anborn. "Use some on the scout. Damrod, put your dagger to the female's throat. I will tie her."

Anborn and Mablung bound the scout's hands tightly, while Damrod rather nervously put his dagger to the woman's throat. When Madril touched her hand, she cried out, but Damrod covered her mouth and brought the dagger to her eyes so she could see it. Her eyes widened and she did not resist as Madril bound her wrists and ankles, then gagged her.

Damrod and Madril rose and stared at one another.

"Sir…" Damrod said nervously.

Madril ignored him and faced the men outside.

"Captain Faramir ordered us to capture and return the scout, and we shall do so," Madril said. "The female, however, was not a part of the orders, and as your field commander I will determine her fate."

"Captain Faramir would want her captured as well," Mablung said.

"As I said, _I_ am in charge here," Madril said, narrowing his eyes at all of them. "She will remain here, in this tent, as my prisoner, for so long as we are stationed in this wilderness."

"That is ridiculous!" Anborn protested. "Should the Captain find out…"

"He will not find out, because none of you will tell him."

There was a pause.

"It is wrong," Damrod said slowly.

"That creature inside the tent is just as much a beast as this one," Madril said, gesturing to the man. "And you know how Captain Faramir would have her treated if we were to bring her to camp. She would become an honored guest! Faramir has little notion of the relativity of things. That female may be fairer looking, but it is no different from…a bear, as you say, or…or the 

deer that we hunt. It is inferior to us, and should not be considered anything greater."

The men glanced at one another. The Haradrim scout stared at Madril with a fierce hatred that he did not notice.

"Are we to begin capturing female deer, then?" Damrod asked quietly.

"How dare you think to insult me!" Madril said angrily. "The Lord Denethor respects _me_ as Faramir's right hand! At my declaration you could be banished from Gondor!"

The men turned their eyes to the ground. Madril sighed, then smiled. "Come now, my friends, let these beasts not drive a wedge into our bonds of fellowship, eh? It is but a small matter. We shall give Faramir his scout, and let him try futilely to communicate with it, and he shall be well pleased with you all. I will even tell him what an excellent job you did helping me capture the thing."

And so the men reluctantly followed their orders, leaving the bound and gagged Haradrim woman inside the tent and heading back to their camp with the obedient scout prisoner.

They entered a cave and followed a tunnel until they reached the main cavern where Faramir sat reading a text illuminated by several torches. He rose and approached the men, staring interestedly at the prisoner.

"Not injured, is he?" Faramir asked.

"No, sir," Mablung responded. "We caught him clean, sir."

"Excellent. And he was alone?"

Mablung didn't answer; there was a pause, and then Madril said, "Yes, sir, alone."

"I see…well then…"

"Not alone," said a deep soft voice, and the Rangers widened their eyes in shock.

The scout glared at the Rangers, then turned to Faramir and said, in a clear voice with a slight accent, "There was a woman with me. She is in my tent. One of your men meant to take her for himself and not tell you."

"What?!" Faramir said, alarmed. "Which man?!"

The scout turned, then pointed to Anborn. "That man."

"No!" Anborn protested, after a moment of shocked confusion. "It was not I, Captain, I swear it…"

"It was he," Madril said heavily, "and I should have stopped it. Forgive me, Captain…I did not know there was a woman in the tent. Anborn entered and left it, and spoke only of 'treasure,' and for his bravery in our last skirmish, I gave him the contents of the tent. I should have searched it."

"You cannot be blamed, Madril," Faramir said, and he turned to Anborn. "I can hardly believe such from you, Anborn."

Anborn looked desperately at his comrades, but Mablung and Damrod avoided eye contact with him, and Madril looked at him threateningly.

"I…apologize, my Captain," Anborn said. "It shall never…happen again…"

"No, it shall not," Faramir said sternly. "You are removed from the First Patrol as of this moment."

"Captain…please…"

"Report to Geldin. He shall assign you cooking detail."

Anborn mouthed wordlessly, gave one last look to his comrades, and then walked off.

"Take me to this tent," Faramir ordered the Rangers.

He followed them out of the cave and walked along behind them. When they had reached the tent, he stopped and faced them.

"The Haradrim are not orcs," Faramir said, staring hard at his Rangers. "They are Men, the same as we are. A woman of their kind is to be treated the very same as a woman of Gondor."

Faramir opened the tent flap, and was startled for a moment by the scandalous appearance of the woman. He blinked, then pulled out his dagger and quickly cut the ropes binding her wrists and ankles, then removed the gag.

"Can you speak to her?" Faramir asked the scout.

"She speaks Westron," the scout replied.

The Rangers all looked surprised, including Faramir; he held out his hand. "My Lady, forgive us for our cruel mistreatment of you."

The woman hesitantly took his hand and he helped raise her to her feet. "Thank you," she mumbled.

They walked back to the cave, and then Faramir asked the woman, "Are you hungry?"

The men glanced at one another.

"Yes, a little," the woman said quietly.

"You shall dine with me," Faramir said. He turned to his men. "Take the scout and place him in the cell…but do not mistreat him, or he will tell me of it."

"I shall place him there myself, sir," Madril said, leading the prisoner away.

Faramir led the woman to his private dining table, located in the isolated part of the cavern that was his private quarters; she sat across from him, and he ordered that soup be served. Then he dismissed all men and guards in the nearby area so that he could talk to the woman alone.

"I truly do apologize for your mistreatment," Faramir said. "My men have no respect for your people…but it is no fault of theirs. This is how they have been taught."

The woman slowly smiled. "You've been taught differently, I guess?" she said, without the slightest hint of a Haradrim accent, although some of her words were strange.

"You speak so well," Faramir said, amazed. "How did you learn Westron?"

She hesitated. "Oh, well, I…er…Dahrik taught me, mostly…"

"Dahrik?"

"He's the scout you captured."

"I see…and what is your name?"

"Er…Nymphadora."

"Nymphadora…your people have beautiful names."

"Thank you."

"I…am quite curious…why were you traveling with that scout? Is he your…husband?"

"No, no…he…is a friend…I, er…I am a scout as well."

"You are…a soldier?"

"Yes."

"There are women soldiers in the Haradrim army?"

"Yes," Nymphadora said, brightening. "Plenty of them…there are whole legions of women 

soldiers. Mostly they guard the homeland, though, which would explain why you've never seen them."

"But you are different?"

"Er…yes, well…our whole tribe is rather different."

"Is it?"

"I…I really shouldn't say more…but I will say that you have nothing to fear from Dahrik and me. I know you think we're your enemies, but we're not…not really. We're…different."

"Forgive me, but…I must still have you under watch at all times."

"That's all right."

"I…regret that I have no women to attend you…"

"Oh, that's all right…I've been around men so long…haven't seen another woman in months."

"Perhaps one of my men can…find more comfortable clothing for you to wear."

"Oh, no, it's no trouble, really."

Faramir hesitated, then said, blushing slightly, "Your current attire is…rather exotic. My men are…" he paused. "None have seen a woman such as you, and some have not seen any woman in near as great a time as you."

"I…see…er…I'll take whatever you've got, I mean…happily…sorry to offend…"

"It is no offense, I would simply wish that my men be attentive to their duties and not…well…they are distracted easily enough as it is."

Nymphadora smiled nervously and averted her eyes to her soup.

Not far away, Madril finished barring and supporting the makeshift cage and was about to leave when the prisoner called out to him.

"Your people," he said. "You are from Gondor?"

Madril turned. "Yes."

"My name is Dahrik; I was Messenger for my general. When I went to Gondor under a sign of peace with a message for your king I was fired at by your scouts before I could even speak to someone."

"Your people have given us much trouble in the past, and most recently have shocked us with your alliance with the forces of Mordor. It cannot be helped for most soldiers to look on you with hatred and animosity."

"And what is your personal opinion of the Haradrim?"

Madril smiled wryly. "Let us just say that I do not believe all Men are equal."

"Do you still think I am a stupid beast?"

"Clearly you are not."

"Did you think I had confused you for that other man, when I identified him?"

"Not for a moment. I assume you want something from me."

"It is always good to have a friend in unfamiliar territory."

Madril's smile widened. "Do not think you carry all the power over me. You may threaten to expose me to Faramir, but it would not be difficult for me to have you killed, or even do it myself, for that matter."

"I think it would not be easy."

"On the contrary, it would be quite easy. I would merely say that you tried to escape, and I was forced to kill you."

Dahrik smiled. "If that is so, why do you not kill me now, when we are alone here and no one watches? Then I could never tell your lord that it was you and not that other man who deserves punishment."

Madril hesitated, then scowled at Dahrik. "Ah, it is too risky…but there are other ways."

"May the Sun King light your path, my friend," Dahrik said with a mocking grin as Madril walked away.

--

"That one's too fat."

"I don't know…"

"He's human, I'd warrant anything."

Neville swallowed and tried to keep his body from shaking as the orcs scrutinized him. Merry was unconscious after taking a blow to the head; Pippin was alert but also silent.

After much debating, one of the taller, blacker orcs addressed Neville directly.

"Are you a Halfling?"

"I…I…"

"Of course he is!" Pippin interrupted. "Are you all blind? He's my cousin!"

"They're lying," a smaller, greyer orc said angrily. "He's too big to be a Halfling."

"I'm a Took," Pippin said quickly. "We Tooks are known to be bigger than most hobbits. Why, a distant cousin of mine…of ours…Bandobras, I think was his name…why, he could ride a horse! Neville here has Took on both sides of his family, direct descendant of Bandobras, wouldn't you know, and…"

"I don't know," the taller orc said, frowning at Neville. "What's your name again?"

"N-Neville Longbottom," Neville stammered.

"Hmm," the orc said thoughtfully. "Longbottom…"

"Let's kill him and get on with it!" the smaller orc hissed. "Your master won't be happy if we're late! And their companions might be following us! We shouldn't delay li…"

The larger orc grabbed the smaller one's throat, silencing him. Still clenching his throat, the larger orc said suddenly, "Longbottom, of course! I knew I had heard that name before…Lord Saruman's pipe weed. He gets it from the West, the land of the Halflings! The name's on all of his storage boxes!"

"It is?" one of the other orcs said uncertainly.

"You can _read_?" another said, shocked.

"Quiet," the leader snapped. "This one's a Halfling all right…tie him up, boys! We'd best get a move on."

The leader let go of the smaller orc's throat and headed to the front of the pack, while Neville was viciously grabbed and his hands and feet were bound.

"Good thing they make such fine leaf, eh?" Pippin said cheerfully to Neville.

But while Pippin was chuckling to himself, Neville looked over concernedly at Merry, whose head seemed to have stopped bleeding but who still hadn't woken up.

_I hope somebody's coming to rescue us…_

--

"Didn't we pass that rock a minute ago?"

Harry sighed, becoming increasingly aggravated by Ron's constant complaining. He looked over at Dumbledore; the old wizard was concentrating on their surroundings, ignoring Ron.

"Maybe we should stop," Harry suggested. "It's getting dark."

"We cannot stop for nightfall," Dumbledore said quietly. "In the land of Mordor all is darkness."

"I don't think the brightest sunlight would give us any more help figuring out where we're going," Ron commented. "This place is a mess…every way through turns out to be a dead end. Unless we want to get impaled on a bunch of sharp rocks, I suggest we…"

"We what?!" Harry interrupted, suddenly and angrily. "Turn back? Ginny's in trouble!"

Ron bowed his head silently.

"We continue on," Dumbledore said levelly. "We have no choice but to do so."

Dumbledore continued walking; Harry walked up alongside of him while Ron tarried farther back.

"Do you think Frodo and Sam are having better luck?" Harry asked with a sigh, regaining his calm.

"We have no way to know."

"I hope Hermione and Neville are okay."

"We have no way of knowing that either."

There was a pause.

"Professor," Harry said slowly, "do you think it's better, without the others?"

"What do you mean?"

"Ron kept telling me that…that he wished just a few of us could go to Mordor, that others would hold us back…and you…you said that you…well…sensed something evil in Aragorn. Do you think…it might be a good thing he's not with us?"

Dumbledore sighed. "I do not know that what I sensed in Aragorn was evil at all. Certainly I 

cannot claim that he did anything but do his very best to lead us since Gandalf's death…and when Galadriel spoke to me she assured me that I had nothing to fear from him."

"Galadriel," Harry said heavily. "I wish she had said something more specific to me."

"The wisdom of the elves…Gandalf spoke much of it. It would seem their counsel is intended to be ambiguous until the moment when it must be used…then, the person who has received the counsel may recognize what it is that they had been told to do. But not before."

"I think she should just tell us everything she knows."

"If you could see a doomed future for someone, what would you do?"

"I'd tell that person."

"How would you tell them?"

"I'd just…tell them exactly what I could see, warn them what would happen."

"If you had foreseen Ginny's present situation, all of our present situations, before this whole adventure started, what would you have done?"

"I would've told her never to go into the White Tree."

"That would have changed her entire future."

"Exactly. She wouldn't be tortured right now."

"But you cannot be sure of that. She could be in just as much danger, only one which you cannot identify."

"But she'd have a better chance."

"True…and yet…if you have seen her entire future, you can narrow the entire cascade of terrible events down to a single moment—her walk outside with Merry in Bree, which resulted in her capture by Lucius Malfoy."

"So you're saying…I should just warn her not to go for a walk outside, right when she's about to?"

"That would put her in a position where you could more easily predict what may happen to her…she would have traveled with us, and likely never been captured or killed. But there is another way. Warning her not to go for a walk could have prevented her from being captured, but the reason she went for a walk, the flaw in her decision, remains; she was unarmed, she was not being cautious enough, she was unprepared for danger and too shocked to attempt to save herself. If that flaw continues to be a part of her, she could be just as vulnerable in a similar 

situation in the future."

"So…you're saying…remove the flaw."

"Exactly. That is the wisdom of the elves…they give unspecific warnings that intend for one to make the right decision to prevent or enable a single event, but also carry that knowledge into the future.

"Telling Ginny she should not go into the white tree at all could have sent her into all sorts of unknown dangers at Hogwarts; telling her she should not go for a walk outside on that cold night would have saved her from that one incident. But warning her to be cautious, to never wander out into the night unprotected, to always be ready with a weapon, to always keep those stronger than her nearby…this could prevent not only her capture by Lucius Malfoy but any manner of possible situations after that event."

Harry slowly nodded his head. "I understand."

"Very good, Harry."

Harry smiled. "Seems a lot better than anything I read in Divination class."

"Ah, Divination…prophecy and its treatment in our world is certainly not so logical. In fact, in most cases it makes absolutely no sense, and it almost never helps…so many of the prophecies hailed greatest turn out, under extensive observation, to be nothing more than a prediction of the weather."

That moment, there was a loud crash of thunder, and rain began to fall from the sky.

"Although in some cases even that prediction would be quite welcome," Dumbledore commented.

"Maybe we should stop," Harry said uncertainly, glancing back at Ron, who was barely in visual range as he lagged further behind them.

"I feel as though we have not made much progress this day," Dumbledore said, shaking his head. "If discomfort is all we must suffer, then I believe it is well worth it to advance further before we turn in."

"I can hardly see where I'm going," Harry said, pulling off his glasses and wiping them on his shirt after they were hit with several raindrops.

Ron jogged up to them. "We're still going on, then?" he asked worriedly.

"Perhaps you are both correct," Dumbledore said, peering over the cliff side at the darkness below. "Stopping may be more wise…but at any rate we must find some sort of overhang which can protect us from this downpour."

"I think there was one farther back, where the rocks sort of jutted out like a roof," Ron said.

"Could you find it?" Harry asked.

Ron hesitated. "Well…it is hard to tell the way we've come…"

"We cannot turn back," Dumbledore said. "We will only find ourselves more lost…we must press onward, and…"

Dumbledore interrupted his own words with a sudden gasp. His foot had slipped on the wet surface of the rocks they were walking along; he tumbled forward, over the edge of the cliff.

Harry and Ron watched in horror as Dumbledore's body fell, his head suddenly striking a jutting rock with enough force to change the direction into which he fell, and then he disappeared into the darkness.

In just a few seconds, with just a slip of the foot, he was gone.

Ron and Harry stared silently over the edge of the cliff, mouths agape, at the tip of the jutting rock which Dumbledore's face had smashed against.

"We should have stopped," Harry said hoarsely. "We should have stopped when it started to get dark…we…"

"This isn't happening," Ron said. "This isn't…"

"He slipped…the rain made the rocks wet…he couldn't have…he couldn't have survived that…"

"He's Albus Dumbledore!" Ron shouted, and tears escaped the corners of his eyes, mingling with the rain hitting his face.

Harry was silent.

"_Albus Dumbledore_!" Ron repeated, as Harry slouched to the ground, sitting against a rock and covering his mouth with his hands. "Albus Dumbledore doesn't…die…not like that…no, he can't be dead…Harry, he can't be…a minute ago he was…and now…"

"He's gone."

"He slipped on a bloody rock!"

"It was dangerous…"

"Dangerous?! Lord Voldemort couldn't take him down! You're telling me…you're telling me the greatest wizard of…of the century, of…of all time maybe…that he slipped on a…"

"You saw him!" Harry cried suddenly, and he began to shake with sobs. "He slipped, that was all…he slipped and fell and smashed his head in…"

"But…" Ron started; then he shut his mouth and said nothing.

There was a long pause before Harry stood up. His mind felt numb from the shock of Dumbledore's sudden fall, but his body felt number from the chill of the oncoming night and cold rain soaking through his clothes.

"Let's go back and find that overhang," he said quietly.

Ron nodded and dumbly followed, taking one last look at the sharp rock, and the darkness into which Dumbledore had fallen.


	2. Chapter 2: Trust Issues

Chapter 2

Trust Issues

"Lady…"

"What?!"

Tonks sat up abruptly on her mat; the man sent to wake her jumped at her quick attentiveness.

"I…did not mean to…disturb you, Lady, I…merely wished…"

"It's all right," Tonks said quickly, smiling.

"I…wish to apologize for the…behavior of my…fellow patrol, we were very…"

"No need, it's all forgotten anyway."

"You are most kind, Lady…it is as Captain Faramir said, your people are still people, and my people are people, and…well…we are both people."

"Er…right."

"I…I am Mablung. What is your name?"

"Nymphadora."

"Lady Nymphadora, I am to escort you to the Captain."

"All right."

Tonks got up and followed Mablung through the tunnels.

"Captain Faramir is a great man," Mablung said cheerfully as they walked. "Some of the men criticize his tactics, but no one can deny that he cares for us all."

"He did seem very nice when I spoke to him."

"He…has been acting rather odd, however…visions, you know."

"I'm sorry?"

"Visions," Mablung repeated. "He is blessed with visions. He has recently seen a most disturbing one of which he will not speak."

"Oh," Tonks said. "That's…that's very interesting…"

"Well, here you are," Mablung said. "The Captain will see you now."

Tonks stepped into the alcove where she had eaten dinner the previous night. She seated herself at the same table across from Faramir.

"Good morning," Faramir said cheerfully. "I trust your accommodations were comfortable enough?"

"Yes, I was…it was very nice…I just…I'd hate to think I was taking a nice place away from one of your men…"

"Nonsense, Madlir does not mind."

"Oh…that's good…"

"I…hate to trouble you with this, but…I spoke to your friend earlier and he was most…uncooperative. He could give me no information about your mission."

"Oh…well, he…he was told it needed to be confidential…"

"I am sure he was, but…you understand that my duty is to monitor enemy activity in the area, and your people have as of late shown nothing but hostility toward my men. It was believed that the Haradrim were united in alliance with the Enemy, but if there were some tribe or faction which was…"

"I'm sorry," Tonks interrupted, "but I really can't say much. Dahrik is the only one who can tell you."

"Then perhaps you could encourage him to tell us."

"I could, if you let me see him."

"Of course! Mablung can show you to him."

"Thanks."

"I…do not wish to appear…demanding, I simply…dislike holding the two of you here against your will if your quarrel is not with us. But you understand why I…"

"Yes, I understand."

Faramir smiled sadly. "Your people are very kind. It is difficult to believe that we cannot form an alliance."

Tonks nodded, then noticed something—the crest on Faramir's chestplate.

"What is that?" Tonks asked suddenly.

"What?" Faramir said, frowning and looking down.

"On your armor…it…looks like a tree, sort of…"

"Ah, that is the White Tree of Gondor."

"White tree?"

"It sounds strange, does it not? And yet I have seen it…although never in the beautiful form it once possessed."

"You…you've seen a white tree."

"Yes. It stands atop the citadel in Minas Tirith. It is a symbol of the people of Gondor."

"Are there…lots of white trees?"

"No, only the one, in Minas Tirith. The others have been lost."

"Is it…magical?" Tonks asked slowly.

"Yes. It has stood for centuries, since Isildur's time…it withers now, but it is said that the white tree shall bloom again when the Heir of Isildur returns to Gondor and takes the throne. Although you would never hear my father tell it that way."

"So…it has something to do with…the King of Gondor."

"Yes, it has everything to do with that."

"Ah," Tonks said, discouraged but not entirely dissuaded.

"You…have an interest in trees?" Faramir asked with a smile.

"Oh…oh no, it's nothing, really…I…just find it interesting, that's all. Um…can I talk to Dahrik now?"

"Certainly. Ask Mablung to escort you to him."

"Thanks."

Tonks approached Mablung. "Could you take me to Dahrik…the prisoner?"

"Of course," Mablung said, and she followed him through the tunnels. Everywhere she walked men stared at her; Tonks smiled slightly to herself, recognizing the irony in the situation. She was now a black woman in a camp of white men where months before she had been a white woman in a camp of black men.

When they had reached the makeshift prison Mablung left Tonks with the guard. "He can call for me when you are finished," Mablung said.

"Okay," Tonks said, and she began to walk past the guard when she realized that he was the man who had attempted to take her as his prisoner. She glared at him and he sneered back. Then she approached Dahrik's cage.

"How are you?" she asked him with a weak smile.

"I am all right," Dahrik said, and he turned toward the guard. "Madlir, leave us."

"I do not take orders from you," Madlir hissed.

"It would be in your best interests to leave us," Dahrik said dangerously.

"You would not want me to leave unless you were planning to escape."

"You may place her in the cell with me, if you like, until I call for you," Dahrik offered. "You need only remain outside."

Madlir folded his arms. "If you wish to converse privately, why do you not simply speak to her in your own wretched language? I cannot understand you."

Tonks bit her lip, wondering how Dahrik could get out of this one; the clever scout said slowly, "You have nothing to fear from two savages trapped in a cage."

"I can lock her in with you, if you insist, but you are not leaving my sight," Madlir said. "If you are not planning to escape then you may speak to her in your language and I will not interfere."

"That may be so, friend," Dahrik said, smiling now, "but in my culture it is considered rude for someone to be watching when a man makes love to a woman. Is it so in yours?"

Madlir opened his mouth; his cheeks reddened and he cleared his throat before saying, "You tempt fate, my _friend_."

"Fate may do what she will," Dahrik said. "You will place my woman in my cell and walk several paces down the tunnel. I shall call for you when I am finished."

Madlir, a dagger in one hand, unlocked the heavily reinforced cell door; Dahrik retreated farther back near the tunnel wall so as not to appear threatening. Then Madlir gently pushed Tonks into the cell before locking it again, adding some extra rope to certain parts and glaring at them both.

"Do not expect favors of a similar nature again," Madlir said through gritted teeth. "Captain Faramir is leading a patrol out and I am one of few left behind to guard this station. You are merely lucky that there are not more men on patrol in this area."

"Go," Dahrik commanded.

"You will be silent with your woman until you have called for me, or someone else may hear and investigate," Madlir commanded, and he turned and stomped away down the tunnel.

Tonks smiled at Dahrik. "How did you get him to…"

Dahrik interrupted her with a kiss, then wrapped his arms around her; Tonks blinked in surprise, smiling nervously. "I thought you just said that to get rid of him."

"I did," Dahrik said. "But that does not mean I do not miss you."

"We have to talk," Tonks said, lowering her voice and hoping he would not be offended by her sudden change of subject.

"Of course…as you see, I control that man, Madlir. He is second to the Captain and fears me greatly…he values the respect of his commander. I have the ability to take that from him, and he knows it."

"How did you manage that?"

"It is…complicated. But things here are under control…I believe I can create a situation in which he will aid our escape, although he will not be a willing participant."

"You're going to trick him."

"Yes. And with your…special gift…I have no doubt we can escape this place."

"Dahrik…I know this will probably sound ridiculous to you, but…I like Captain Faramir."

"His men respect him. I am certain he is a good commander, but he is an enemy nonetheless."

"But he's not an enemy! If we can convince Zendar's brother to…"

"_If_," Dahrik interrupted. "For now he is still the enemy. Do you forget what I have told you, that before you came to Zendar's camp his people fired on me unarmed under a standard of peace?"

"I know, but…I think he might help us. His mission is to watch over the Haradrim forces in the area…maybe if he knew _our_ mission, he'd help us get to Zendar's brother. After all, if we can convince Denike to betray Sauron it's just as much Faramir's concern as it is…"

"They would not believe us," Dahrik said, shaking his head. "We have seen his men, seen some of his operations, and now we ask to be given safe passage through his land to the land of our people, his enemy? He has no reason to trust us."

"But I think he would. If you give it time…"

"Tonks," Dahrik said seriously, "you will _not_ tell him anything of the mission, do you understand?"

"I…"

"You swore to me you would tell no one."

"I know!" Tonks said, and tears filled her eyes. "And I didn't tell anyone! I didn't tell Zendar, I didn't even tell…" she stopped and swallowed, bowing her head.

Dahrik lifted her chin. "Zendar will be happier than you have ever seen him when he and his brother are reunited."

"You…you're right…of course you're right…Faramir can't be trusted, and he has no reason to trust us."

"Continue to praise the Captain and he will suspect nothing. We should remain out of contact for a time, until I have thought of a plan for our escape. I will use Madlir to ask for you again. In the meantime, you should keep an eye out for guards that you could potentially impersonate."

"Okay," Tonks said, nodding.

Dahrik kissed her again. "I will call for Madlir now…"

-----------------

"We have no choice."

Harry stopped and turned. "What?"

"I was going to ask you how we could ever hope to stop Voldemort and rescue Ginny…but then I answered my own question. We have no choice. We just have to keep moving and…and get her out of there."

Harry placed a hand on Ron's shoulder. "You're right. We don't have a choice."

Ron smiled weakly. "Remember when we were going to get the Sorcerer's Stone, and we wanted to ask Dumbledore for help but he wasn't there? We had to do it on our own."

"Exactly," Harry said. "We've done a lot on our own…" he stopped. "But we couldn't have made it this far without his help. He and Gandalf both…will be remembered always."

Ron nodded. "When we're back home, Dumbledore will have the best funeral the world's ever seen."

Harry smiled slightly, blinking back tears. "Now…now it's just up to us to get there…"

He stopped walking as he heard the sound of falling rock nearby. Ron stopped right next to him; the two stood there, both cautiously reaching for their sword hilts. The area was covered in fog and neither could tell if the faraway noise had been caused by someone's presence.

"D'you think…" Ron started whispering, but he stopped and his jaw dropped when a figure stepped out of the fog in front of them, both hands raised.

"Wha…" Harry started, blinking.

"Bloody hell!" Ron cried, drawing his sword.

"I'm here to help you."

Harry and Ron both stood frozen, facing Draco Malfoy.

"Wh…what…where did you come from?!" Harry sputtered, as Ron held out his sword threateningly.

"From Mordor," Draco said. "I flew here." His voice was soft, deep, and the way he spoke gave his words a sort of emptiness. It wasn't just his voice but also his appearance which made him frightening; he was significantly taller than he had been the last time Harry had seen him, and even paler than Harry thought possible. Draco was emaciated and his face was gaunt; he looked almost as terrible as Sirius had after eleven years in Azkaban. But most disturbing of all was the sense that Draco was much older, that he couldn't be fifteen like Harry and Ron, that he had aged several years in the past few months.

"You flew?" Harry repeated.

"A…giant beast carried me. It's gone now…it abandoned me here. Not that I wasn't intending to come here…I spotted you. I decided to help you."

"Help us?" Harry said warily.

"I have been to Mordor," Draco said simply. "I have been living there all these months…with Voldemort…and I have seen Ginny. I know where…"

Upon hearing his sister's name, Ron lunged at Draco, grabbing one of his skinny arms and putting the tip of his shortsword against Draco's throat. "You're not fooling anyone," he said through gritted teeth. "I know what you did to my sister."

Draco narrowed his eyes, staring directly at Ron. "I don't know what you're…"

"I _saw_ you!"

"Ron, let go of him," Harry said.

"He…he hurt her!" Ron shouted. "I'm not…"

"Let go, Ron!"

Ron pushed Draco away, clenching his empty hand into a fist and continuing to point the sword at him with his other hand.

Draco bowed his head, staring vacantly at the rocks and dirt on the ground. Harry knew a tangible change had come over him. This wasn't the Slytherin bully he remembered. This Malfoy was potentially much more dangerous.

"Why did you leave Mordor?" Harry asked slowly. "You and your father were there with Voldemort, weren't you?"

Draco lifted his eyes and looked at Harry. "My father is dead."

There were a few seconds of silence following these words.

"Good riddance," Ron suddenly said, very bitterly.

Harry saw the slightest shiver pass through Malfoy's body and realized that Ron's words had hurt him greatly. _His father is dead…_

A rush of sympathy suddenly flooded through Harry. Draco was alone now, he had no one, much as Harry once had no one…

"I understand," Harry said.

"Understand what?!" Ron demanded, looking from one to the other. "He hasn't explained himself at all! How did he get here? Why did he come looking for us? How did he even know we were anywhere near here?! What's he _really_ up to?!"

"He wants to stop Voldemort," Harry said.

"That's what he wants you to think," Ron said. "Just because his father…"

"_My_ father was killed by Voldemort," Harry said gravely.

Ron's shoulders sagged a bit. "But your father was good," he said, with much less aggression. "He wasn't a Death Eater…he didn't work with the enemy, didn't…"

"My father was killed because he wanted to escape," Draco interrupted. "He hated Mordor, as I did. He even came to hate Voldemort. And the Dark Lord knew it."

"And you've decided to help us, because you suffered there, and your father suffered," Harry said. "And you want to help Ginny, because she's suffering."

Draco nodded.

"You're crazy!" Ron shouted, his blatant hostility returning. "Harry, Malfoy's tried to trick you loads of times! And his dad was even worse, corrupting the Ministry of Magic and all, trying to kill Ginny with that diary three years ago! We should be glad he's dead, and take out this one, too, before he takes us out!"

"You want to _kill_ me?" Draco said.

"Yeah!" Ron shouted fiercely. "I want to _kill_ you, Malfoy! Because you're rotten! It's never been plainer than it is now, it's all over your face!"

"We're not killing him, Ron," Harry said.

"Why not?! Remember when you had Wormtail, and you let him go? Look at the world of good that did! Cedric Diggory dead and Vold…"

"That wasn't my fault!" Harry protested.

"If you had killed Wormtail…"

"Potter is right," Draco interrupted darkly. "Murder is easier said than done."

"It's not murder," Ron shot back. "It's _justice._"

"How is killing him justice?" Harry asked. "Other than bully us around, follow his father here, what's he done to deserve getting killed?"

"He raped my sister," Ron said viciously.

"What?!" Draco said, looking suddenly alarmed.

"You can't prove…" Harry started.

"I saw it!" Ron cried. "You and Hermione didn't believe me…you said he's just a kid, just like us…look at him, Harry! You still think he's just a kid? You still think he's like us?!"

Harry hesitated, looking at Draco. It was true that now, looking at how much he had changed, Harry could fathom it, almost Draco looming over a terrified Ginny in a dark room…

"I did not _touch_ your sister," Draco said, his voice quavering slightly. "Voldemort tortured her, and often too, but he only used a wand so far as I know. No one else saw her."

"Oh, you never even _saw_ her?" Ron asked.

"Rarely. Only when the Dark Lord permitted it, and she was such a wreck…"

"You _liar_!" Ron hissed.

"How could you have seen anything?" Draco asked angrily. "When were you ever in Mordor?"

"I looked into a magic mirror…I saw my sister…and I saw you…I saw you grab her…"

"Magic mirror?" Draco repeated. "What magic mirror?"

"Ron, think about this," Harry said desperately; Ron looked on the verge of losing control now. "That mirror could've been wrong…it could've been showing you things you were afraid of, just trying to scare you…like Hermione said…"

"I always thought Malfoy was scum but even I couldn't have imagined that until I saw it," Ron said murderously. "He's lying, Harry…"

"Why would I come here?" Draco asked, looking at Harry. "Why would I come to you unarmed?"

"To trick us!" Ron shouted. "To make us think, to make _Harry_ think you're trying to help us!"

"I know how easy it is to want to blame one person for the terrible things that have happened to you," Draco continued. "I know that it's convenient for you to blame me because you always hated me at school. But you know who the real enemy is. He has always been your enemy…and he is now my enemy."

"Says you!" Ron said disbelievingly.

"We're going to trust him," Harry said firmly.

"Wh…what?! We ought to kill him! At the very least we ought to tie him to a rock or something! But _trust_…"

"Malfoy can help us rescue Ginny. He's the best chance we have."

"Or he could be the whole reason we fail! Harry, we can make it, we don't have to listen to this bas…"

"Dumbledore is dead!" Harry shouted.

There was a moment of silence.

"Dumbledore is dead," Harry repeated, quietly. "We didn't have a choice before; now we have one. And I'm making the choice that I think is right."

"You thought it was right when you let Wormtail get away."

"Wormtail was guilty. I knew it. And…" Harry paused. "And I was wrong to let him go then. But Malfoy hasn't done anything except…"

"Except rape my sister," Ron said viciously.

"I didn't do that," Draco insisted again.

"I believe you," Harry said. "I believe you over the crazy elf who showed Ron that vision, and who told me that I 'couldn't see my greatest weakness.' We're at the point where we can't rely on visions and cryptic messages anymore."

"Fine," Ron whispered. "Trust him if you want. But I'm watching my back."

"I believe that he is on our side," Harry said. "And if he isn't…" he paused and turned his eyes to Draco. "If he isn't, maybe he'll come to realize which side is the right one."

"Then you're going to allow me to take you to Barad-Dur?" Draco asked.

"Lead the way," Harry said.

-----------------

"These tracks are confusing…I must inspect them."

"Does this mean we finally get a break?"

"As you wish."

Hermione and Gimli sighed with relief; Gimli immediately plopped down on the ground, and while Hermione would've liked to, there was something she had to do first.

From the moment she had heard Aragorn's Parseltongue she had been observing him suspiciously, and it now seemed that every move he made and every word he spoke masked some secret intention. At first the very act of speaking to snakes—one that painfully reminded her of the horror she had undergone in her basilisk encounter—had been what disturbed her most, but along their journey in the trail of the orcs darker thoughts had begun to form in her mind; she began to wonder just what Aragorn had been saying to the snake. The idea that he was speaking to it for no particular reason right after the death of a close friend and the capture of several others was fairly ridiculous; she reasoned that he must be either communicating with it or using it to communicate with someone else who spoke Parseltongue, and there was only one other person whom that could be…

Of course, that wasn't necessarily true. Dumbledore had sensed evil in Aragorn, and he bore the snake emblem associated with the generally-designated "evil" members of her wizarding community, but even in her world only the Heir of Slytherin (with the exception, of course, of Harry) could talk to snakes. Hermione figured that since his ability accounted for neither a relation to Slytherin nor some convoluted magical phenomena involving his mother's love, he must have received it by some other devious means possible only in this world, in the same way that wizards like Gandalf were not given their abilities in the same way as wizards like Dumbledore. If Aragorn had this ability for unknown reasons, anyone else in Middle-earth could have it for the same reason; he might not be communicating with Voldemort.

And now Hermione was faced with indecision. In the worst possible scenario Aragorn could be completely evil and communicating with the enemy; in the best possible scenario he would still be a liar who was hiding something about his identity. Either way he was a danger, and either way Hermione couldn't allow Aragorn to be trusted. But without Dumbledore, without Harry, whom could she turn to?

Gimli was civil to her, but she couldn't look him in the eye after he had revealed to her that he knew her secret. And Legolas…

It had to be Legolas.

Just looking at him reminded her of that terrible moment of weakness, but she couldn't wait any longer; she had to talk to him.

Hermione started walking over to him, stopped uncertainly, turned around, and walked away.

She couldn't do it. She couldn't speak to him. She could never speak to him.

"Hermione?"

Hermione winced and turned around. "Yes?"

"You look distressed."

Hermione forced a smile. "Oh, just tired, that's all."

"I would like to speak with you in private," Legolas said seriously.

"Um…okay."

Hermione walked a little ways off with Legolas, glancing over her shoulder at Aragorn, who was frowning as he carefully inspected the ground. She wished he could call out to them, tell them he'd found the trail and they needed to continue on…

"I understand that things are difficult for you," Legolas said, stopping once they were out of earshot of Gimli and Aragorn. "Boromir's passing was difficult for all of us, but the turn of events is much graver for you."

"Why do you say that?" Hermione asked, perhaps too quickly and urgently.

"Your friends have all gone. You are concerned for them…you fear for their safety because you do not know if they are well."

Hermione bit her lip and her eyes began to tear up. Legolas put a hand on her shoulder. "I am certain they are safe," he said reassuringly. "Dumbledore will protect them."

Hermione swallowed and closed her eyes. She wished Legolas would remove his hand. She wished she could tell him that she wasn't crying because she was worried about them, she was crying because she _wasn't_ worried about them, because she had spent all this time thinking about what she had done to Boromir, and Aragorn talking to snakes, and she hadn't thought for one moment if Harry and Ron were okay…

"I'll be all right," Hermione said quietly, opening her eyes. "Thank you."

Legolas smiled. "_I am here for you, Hermione,_" he said in Sindarin.

A chill ran down Hermione's spine at those words. What had once sounded pretty and interesting now inspired terror in her as she remembered what that language had done to her.

"Have you noticed anything odd about Aragorn?" Hermione asked suddenly, deciding to change the subject.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean…do you think he's been…well…acting differently?"

There was a pause.

"You asked me this once before," Legolas said slowly.

"I…did?"

"Shortly after we left Rivendell. You said he was acting strangely, and you asked me questions about his ring."

"Oh…right…I remember that now…um…well, he…was acting strangely."

"And he is now."

"I…think so, yes."

"And you do not attribute that to the orc chase? To the death of Boromir? You imagine there is some other reason that only I would know?"

"No," Hermione said, frowning. "No, I was just asking you if…if you noticed anything strange."

"I have noticed nothing strange about his behavior," Legolas said, flustered.

"Okay, then…you answered my question," Hermione said defensively.

There was a pause.

"I am sorry," Legolas said. "I did not mean to sound so…harsh…let us speak of other things…"

A good ways away from those two, Aragorn, his eyes scanning the ground, called out, "Gimli?"

Gimli hurried up to him. "Have you found the trail?"

Aragorn lowered his voice. "I have been meaning to ask you something."

"Yes?"

"Have you noticed anything strange about the way Hermione has been acting?"

"Hermione?" Gimli repeated nervously. "I…suppose she must be…weary, and saddened, as we all are…"

"She has been watching me…spying on me, almost. She and Legolas both. And look how they have gone off together, the moment I call for rest."

"Well…that does not mean anything, necessarily."

"You do not think it odd that they have left the area to discuss something, something which it seems they do not want either of us to hear?"

Gimli shifted his weight. "Well, likely they simply want…privacy," he mumbled.

"Privacy?"

"You know how…they are."

Aragorn frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"Legolas and the young lass. You know how…they feel, about each other."

There was a pause.

"_What_?" Aragorn said.

"They are in love," Gimli said simply.

Aragorn blinked. "I…they…for how long have you known this?"

"Oh, since…well…let me see now…since before the Mines," Gimli said.

"Before the…" Aragorn's voice faded. "I…see…well…that explains their behavior, then."

"Of course."

"I have found the trail."

"You…you have? Just this moment?"

"Let us depart," Aragorn said, avoiding the question and turning away.

-----------------

Lupin slowly clenched his hand into a fist and closed his eyes.

He thought of her smile, her adorably awkward laugh…He thought of that look of shocked disappointment on her face, steeped in anger and frustration, that final look he had received from her.

"Love," Lupin whispered bitterly. He had come into the habit of talking to himself. It was not that he imagined anyone was listening; he just found that hearing his thoughts out loud reassured him.

He wished he could make up his mind about whom he was angry at. Sometimes it was himself, sometimes it was her. Sometimes it was even Zendar. But despite the inconsistency of the anger, it always had a common effect; it gave him something to blame. Right now, he wasn't particularly angry at anyone.

To keep himself from descending into depression, he had to establish a purpose.

_I have to get her home._

That was the goal, the one thing driving him. Even if she no longer cared about him, he still loved her; even at his angriest he still loved her. And he wouldn't rest until she was back in their world on the other side of that white tree.

The tent flap opened suddenly and unannounced. It was Zendar.

"You are thinking of her," Zendar said.

"There is little else for me to think about," Lupin said quietly.

"Yes…I have…ways to distract. The war, the soldiers. You sit in the tent. Think."

"Yes," Lupin said, clenching his jaw. "I sit here, in considerable pain, and _think_. That is what I do all day, every day."

Zendar folded his arms. "You should not have scared her away then, eh?"

Lupin glared up at him. "_I_ scared her away?! _You_ did a fine enough job of that without my help!"

"But you helped," Zendar said with a wry smile.

"All I did was tell her…" a knot formed in Lupin's throat; he found that he couldn't continue this way, he needed the anger back. "_You_ should have been less demanding. You were constantly pressuring her…"

Zendar clenched his fists. "And _you_, white man, should have told me she was not wife, but more important she had divine power!"

"It was her choice not to tell you!"

There was a pause, and then Zendar relaxed. "You and I, White Man, we together on same thing," he said with a sigh. "She not love both of us anymore."

"Dahrik," Lupin mumbled, slowly shaking his head. "I don't understand it."

"Dahrik was good man, or so I thought. I do not know what they are doing…You think he is taking her home?"

"They went east, remember?"

"Ah yes…you from the west…well…they cannot go off for love?"

"I'm sure that's not the reason…but I can't imagine what it could be."

There was a long pause as the two men thought to themselves, then Zendar smiled. "White Man, your woman such a mystery, but we will find her together."

"After the war," Lupin said quietly.

Zendar's smile faded. "Yes."

"Sometimes I wonder if she cares at all about me anymore."

"She think you trick her, and she trick me. I love her. She love you."

Lupin thought for a moment about what Zendar meant in this convoluted sentence, then smiled. "All right…I guess there is some hope…"

"Come," Zendar said, approaching him and clapping him on the shoulder. "My tent. Nurza is there. We talk about things."

"What things?"

"Orcs moving very fast toward here, scouts say. Faster than any before them. Small group, but not seem like raiding party. To Isengard, we think. We will stop them."

-----------------

"You wear the black gown of a widow, as though he were your husband and not merely your cousin."

"He was a brother to me. You know this."

"Yes, yes…as he was to us all. A great loss."

Éowyn's jaw twitched the slightest bit.

Wormtongue folded his hands behind his back. "A pity your little pet is not here to give you comfort."

Éowyn swallowed. "Pity," she whispered.

"What happened to that dog anyway?"

Éowyn clenched her fists and spun around to face Wormtongue. "You are attempting to change the subject," she hissed. "You do not wish to speak of Théodred's death because of…because of _your_ involvement."

"_My_ involvement?" Wormtongue repeated, his eyes widening.

"Do you think I am a fool?! You told the king to order Éomer to remain here when my brother could have helped Théodred!"

"Your brother is the one who convinced Théodred to go in the first place…well, that is not entirely true."

"No doubt you influenced him there as well."

"Actually, I was thinking more of Sirius's involvement."

There was a pause.

"Sirius?" Éowyn whispered.

Wormtongue walked right up to her until he was next to her and looked straight into her eyes. "There is no need for diversions," he said quietly. "We shall go to the heart of the matter."

"What are you talking about?" Éowyn asked distantly, unable to turn her eyes from his.

"I know about Sirius. I know that your dog was no dog at all. He was a _wizard_."

Éowyn forced her eyes away. "How do you know this?" she asked in a trembling voice, staring at the ground.

"He told me. He came to me. He wanted my help."

"Your help?" Éowyn repeated shakily, looking up at him again.

"Yes," Wormtongue said, his mouth twitching into a smile. "He wanted to seduce you. Somehow he thought I would know of such matters."

"That is ridiculous," Éowyn whispered.

"Indeed," Wormtongue said, ignoring her meaning. "I told him that I could do little to help him. He said that you were in love with Théodred and that if I could get him out of the way he would have little trouble. I told him that Théodred would be leading a peace delegation to Isengard in short time, and would be away for several weeks, but Sirius said that he was looking for a more…permanent solution. He tried to convince me that it was in both of our interests…I rejected all offers he made of me. He became angry with me and said that he wanted nothing more to do with me, and then he threatened me to hold my silence. And so I have held it…until now."

There was a pause.

"Why did Sirius leave?" Wormtongue asked, slowly and delicately, as he stared into Éowyn's eyes.

"He did not tell me," Éowyn said in a broken voice. "I awoke in the morning and he was not there."

"Did anything happen the previous night which might have caused his sudden departure?"

There was a long silence, and then Éowyn looked away. She said, in a soft voice devoid of emotion, "These things that you say to me…these are things you could not have known unless he told them to you."

"Yes," Wormtongue said, nodding. "Sirius told me that you had informed no one else of your feelings for your dear cousin…not even Théodred himself."

"It was only Sirius who knew."

"Until he told me."

"Do you think he had something to do with Théodred's death? Directly?"

"I cannot know that for certain. He has powers of a nature unknown to me. He may have cast a spell on the Prince which assured his death."

Éowyn again lifted her eyes to Wormtongue, but this time they held a silent fury that frightened as much as pleased him. "I do not know what you hold against this man," she said darkly. "Perhaps it is merely the superiority of his power which disconcerts you, or perhaps he did you some harm which you have not described to me. Whatever the cause, I ask you to put your personal dislike for the man aside and grant me a favor."

"What favor is that, my Lady?" Wormtongue asked curiously.

"If you ever see this beast, or hear tell of him, you will immediately come to me…for I must be the one who kills him."

"As you wish, my Lady," Wormtongue said, bowing low. "Now, I shall leave you to your mourning."

Wormtongue walked out of the room, smiling.

---------------------------

"I still don't trust him."

"He can lead us."

"The only place he'll be leading us is straight into a trap."

"Oh, Sam…"

Sam shifted the weight on his pack and then looked ahead. "Hey, where's he off to, anyhow? I don't see him."

Frodo squinted ahead. "Sméagol? Where are you?"

No answer.

"You see?!" Sam cried. "He's gone and left us! Probably off to tell his friends so they can…"

"Hobbitses!" a shrill voice cried. "Come hobbitses, look, see!"

Frodo and Sam glanced at one another, then hurried ahead.

After rounding a corner Sam gasped and Frodo cried out at the sight before them.

"Dead a little while, this one," Gollum said, poking the corpse. "Still fresh, though, preciousss…"

"Get away from him!" Sam shouted, rushing forward and kneeling next to the body of Dumbledore.

"Oh, Sam," Frodo whispered, his large blue eyes filling with tears.

"You know this one, precious?" Gollum asked curiously.

"He was a friend," Frodo said distantly.

Sam looked up. "Likely he was pushed off the ridge up there." He shook his head. "First Gandalf, now this…"

"I should never have left them," Frodo said suddenly. "I should never have told them to go on their own. Sam…we have to find them."

Sam nodded. "Aye, Mr. Frodo…after we've given Dumbledore a burial, good and proper, we'll get to looking for Master Harry and Master Ron."


	3. Chapter 3: Big Decisions

A/N: The return! Some exciting news: So far our LOTR characters have been following their plotlines pretty canonically, with subtle twists. Beginning with this chapter that is about to change.

Chapter 3: Big Decisions

The Black Hills.

It seemed like a rather odd choice for a destination. There were plenty of villages and farms in the land of Rohan where a kind stranger—or a resourceful dog—might find food. From what he had heard, the Black Hills would likely be welcoming of neither.

And yet that was where Sirius was headed to. Éowyn had shown him maps and told him about the various lands of Rohan and its immediate vicinity. After all, Sirius had always expected that he would one day leave Edoras and set off on his own. He had asked her numerous questions about the landscape, and had been warned several times that the Black Hills—a disputed territory bordering Rohan and Isengard, populated mainly by the savage men of Dunland—were dangerous and should be avoided.

He was careful to pay attention to the location of the Black Hills precisely because he hadn't wanted to end up there. But now he did.

He didn't have a logical reason for going. Éowyn had told him stories about the warring tribes of savage outcasts composed of Rohan's ancient enemies—the Dunlendings—and people of Rohan who had been banished. A stranger might be shot on sight; a dog might be hunted and eaten.

But he wanted to go there. Sirius would steal food from the wicked, maybe even killing a few if they really were as evil as Éowyn had claimed. He wasn't going to become anyone's pet dog, wasn't going to charm any women into giving him a warm meal…

He was definitely through with charming women.

And so he would go to the Black Hills, where a despicable person like him couldn't become entangled with honorable people like Théodred and Éowyn again.

Sirius would go to the Black Hills and interrogate every scoundrel he could get his hands on about Isengard. Once he had made a decent plan he could go there and find Wormtail, finally killing the bastard—but not before Wormtail helped him find Lupin and Tonks, and maybe even Harry.

Sirius didn't know if Lupin and Tonks were alive or dead; Wormtongue's word could hardly be trusted. If they were alive they likely wouldn't leave without destroying the Death Eaters first—Lupin especially wouldn't just walk back to Hogwarts while Wormtail was in Isengard. But Harry…

Harry couldn't be here still. He must be back at Hogwarts, studying for his O.W.L.s and dominating Slytherin at Quidditch.

Sirius smiled at this thought—it was the first time he had smiled since he had made his decision to leave Edoras. Of course Harry was safe. Dumbledore could be goal-oriented to the point of cruelty, but he would never risk putting Harry in this much danger.

----------------------

Harry stared blankly at the grave. It had been marked simply "DUMBLEDOR."

Tears filled Harry's eyes as he picked up a sharp rock, evidently the one which had been used to scratch on the original letters. He heard Ron sniff as he added an "e" at the end.

"We didn't know if that was all his name, and we weren't quite clear on the spelling," Sam said quietly, shifting his weight and bowing his head. "Sorry for the trouble…"

"No, you did good," Ron said, clearing his throat. "Thanks for everything."

Sam gave a small smile. Ron glanced over at Malfoy; he was staring intensely at the grave, as though he expected Dumbledore's corpse to pop out at any moment. Ron couldn't quite figure the emotion and wondered what could possibly be going through Malfoy's mind. It definitely didn't look like he was sad.

"Orcses will find Sméagol," the hobbits' strange guide muttered. "Yellow Face ssneers, and all sstand sstill as sstoness, precioussss…"

Ron leaned toward Harry, who had finished the carving. "A bit Kreacher-esque, that one, isn't he?"

"What?" Harry said, frowning but welcoming the change of subject.

"That Gollum thing they've got. Kind of like Kreacher, the house-elf from the Order headquarters."

"Oh, him," Harry said, nodding. "Yeah, I suppose…I didn't really see Kreacher all that much."

"What are you talking about?" Malfoy asked.

"Weren't talking to you," Ron said hostilely, turning his back to him

"Ron," Harry said in a strained voice, "Malfoy's…"

"We shouldn't talk about the Order around him. It was stupid of me to bring it up. I won't do it again."

Harry sighed. Ron would never trust Malfoy.

"If you won't talk about that, maybe you can at least explain to me who these three…people…are," Malfoy said, folding his arms.

"Oh, right," Harry said. "Um…this is Sam and Frodo, and…" he paused; Frodo's eyes were wide. "And they're on a surveillance mission," he said finally. "They're going to check out Mordor to get information for Gondor's invasion plan."

"_Invasion_ plan?" Malfoy repeated, showing more pronounced emotion with the raise of his eyebrow than Harry had yet seen. "Gondor is actually planning to _invade_ Mordor?"

"I would appreciate it if this were not discussed any further," Frodo said uncomfortably; Harry thought Frodo was doing a good job faking concern, but in reality Frodo was worried that Gollum might overhear their conversation and bring up the Ring.

"Interesting choice of spies," Malfoy said, still looking highly skeptical.

"Mr. Frodo and I have got our business, and you've got yours," Sam said, frowning. "And it would be best if we stayed out of each other's."

"Perhaps," Malfoy said unconvincingly, walking away; Harry took the opportunity to approach Frodo while Ron continued staring reflectively at Dumbledore's grave.

"I'm not sure I understand why, but I know you ran away from us," Harry said quietly.  
"Me and Ron, I mean. And now we're here…"

"Yes," Frodo said, sighing heavily. "Fate has brought us together again."

"We're both looking for a way to get into Mordor. It makes sense that we should travel together."

"Who exactly is that suspicious man you've acquired?"

_Man._ "His father is the one who took Ginny in Bree."

"And you actually trust him?"

"He…" Harry paused. "He went to school with me and Ron. He was a bully, but he never really…he never _killed_ anyone. And I don't think he ever would. Voldemort killed his father, you know. He said he wants to help Ginny, but I think…I think that really he just wants to get back at Voldemort for killing his dad. And I can understand that."

"I am not convinced."

"He could've killed me and Ron, and there's no way he knows about…your mission."

"I would like to keep it that way. I know it will be difficult, but…I will try to consult Sméagol on the issue, prevent him from saying anything that should not be said."

"Sméagol? I thought Gandalf said his name was Gollum."

"It was."

"Are you sure that _he _can be trusted?" Harry asked, not sure what the name change meant but not caring enough to ask.

"He is bound to…my mission. He will do whatever I say."

"You seem to trust him more than me and Ron."

"Once we have entered Mordor we will have no more need of him."

"Yeah, I suppose getting in is the hard part…" Harry paused and looked at the dark sky to the east. "But it won't be long now."

--------------------

Hermione was slowing them down.

No one really wanted to admit it, but it was the simple truth. They had been marching for days and the orc trail was barely visible. Legolas' eyesight had consistently confirmed that the orcs were heading in the same direction they had always supposed—Isengard. But now there was simply no chance of the four overtaking them.

Aragorn puzzled over what should be done. He himself was physically strained, and Gimli too was visibly tired. Legolas, naturally, seemed unaffected by the heavy marching, but Hermione…though she struggled on, she was beginning to look very ill.

Aragorn knew he had a difficult decision to make. He was confident that he and Legolas could make up a good deal of ground on their own, and possibly with Gimli along as well, but they couldn't leave Hermione alone.

The Ranger had passed through Rohan many times in his lifetime, but he had never seen it more barren. They had encountered no villages or herdsmen; any roads they had found were in disrepair. Something terrible indeed had struck this land, and Aragorn could sense that the ground had been disturbed by many more orcs than the ones they were chasing.

The people of Rohan were notoriously distrustful of outsiders, but Aragorn was no outsider. He had ridden with the king—albeit many years ago—and was certain he would receive a warm enough welcome in the palace. Edoras wasn't far, but it was in the opposite direction, and there was no guarantee they would be provided with any assistance in tracking down their friends.

But that was what they so desperately needed—assistance. In the land of the Horse Lords, why couldn't they find any horses?!

The magnificent Riders of Rohan would certainly make up the ground that remained between them and the orcs. And even if King Théoden didn't grant Aragorn men and arms, it was possible he could get some horses out of them. But by the time they arrived at the palace it would surely be too late.

Aragorn closed his eyes. He had to think quickly.

It was dark now; they had decided previously that it would be useless to try following the trail in the dark, just in case the orcs divided into two parties or suddenly changed their direction. As the sun went down they had made camp, and Hermione had immediately collapsed onto the ground. Gimli fell asleep quickly, and Legolas paced the perimeter, looking greatly disturbed.

If Aragorn did decide to split everyone up, they should get things sorted out now, while they were already wasting time. The orcs, obviously, would have no reason to stop for nighttime; they could see better in the dark anyway.

If anyone was going to Edoras instead of Isengard, they should set out now.

But what could be gained?

Aragorn sighed. He needed a second opinion on this.

"What troubles you?" Legolas asked, after Aragorn approached him.

"Hermione can no longer travel this way," Aragorn said, deciding to be blunt. "We must either abandon our efforts or continue without her."

Legolas shuddered as though struck by a heavy blow, and Aragorn remembered what Gimli had told him about the two being in love. He still wasn't convinced, although Legolas did seem to care deeply for her.

"We cannot abandon her," the elf said quietly.

"Of course not. But there can be no continuing in this way. We are close to Edoras…if we choose to turn from our path we could find rest there, at the very least. But we would be abandoning Merry, Pippin and Neville of our own inadequacy."

Legolas slowly shook his head. "We found signs of struggles among the orc party…if one of the prisoners were to escape, and we abandoned the trail, we should never know of it, even if they left markers for us to follow."

"I know. If they are heading straight for Isengard, nonstop, we have no chance of helping them at our present course. If we go to Edoras, we may convince the king to dispatch a messenger to a patrol, and the patrol could, riding at full speed, overtake the orcs. But if the orcs do not continue as they have done…if an escape attempt were successful, or the party divided…then all hope of discovering this would be lost."

"We must divide," Legolas said sadly. "There is no alternative. Someone must go to Edoras and enlist the help of the king in catching the orcs, and someone else must continue to follow the trail, faster than we have done, so that nothing is overlooked."

Aragorn nodded. "I agree with you, my friend. But who to go and who to stay? Hermione, certainly, should be sent to Edoras, but she would be in serious danger on her own, and…"

"You must go with her," Legolas interrupted.

"I? But I…"

"I have learned a great deal about tracking from observing you on our quest. Gimli and I will continue to follow this trail. You and Hermione must go to Edoras and speak to their king."

Aragorn lifted his arms hopelessly. "I suppose there is nothing else to be done."

Legolas leaned closer to him. "I shall warn you…Hermione does not trust you."

"I had my suspicions of this, but I cannot understand why she would not trust me after all I have done."

"Her magic is strange. She senses something from you that she cannot decipher. I can only assume it must be connected to your Numenorean blood. You ancestors were magical, of course, being descended from the High Elves."

"Yes, that…must be it," Aragorn said uncertainly.

"Let her rest now, and at the break of dawn we can part ways."

"Very well."

---------------------

"How is the Westron training going?" Zendar asked Nurza, in Haradrim.

Nurza sighed. "Not well," he said, rubbing his bald head. "Even with Lupin's assistance none of the soldiers being trained have managed to grasp even the most basic grammar."

"Many of them cannot grasp basic grammar in our own language," Zendar said with a smile. "So many warriors are raised to believe these things are not important."

"They are certainly important. Our second-best speaker was killed, as you know, and if Dahrik intended to return he would have done so by now."

Zendar bowed his head, and Nurza put a hand on his friend's shoulder. "I know you always think of her."

Zendar tried to change the subject back to language. "Well…at least my Westron has improved."

"Significantly."

"Then I shall be ambassador myself."

"That is very dangerous. You remember that Dahrik was almost killed when he went to Minas Tirith."

"You are the Spirit Man. You are more important than I am."

Nurza smiled sadly. "You could have been a Spirit Man as well, if you had not broken your vows."

"Must you always remind me of her?!" Zendar exclaimed angrily. "I wish to speak of business."

"Very well…" Nurza thought for a moment. "Lupin, I suppose, would not be a very good candidate for an ambassador, given his condition."

"Not only that. The man is not one of us."

"But he could be more accepted because of his color."

"The white men hate us!" Zendar shouted angrily. "They would take him less seriously than they would you or I! A white man who speaks for a tribe of Haradrim? They would think him a fool."

"And there is his leg condition," Nurza said quietly. "So…you are ambassador, officially."

"And I will go to Edoras and plead with the Prince as soon as we have slain the orc unit."

"The Prince was kind to Dahrik. He should be no less kind to you."

"Perhaps not. Dahrik is so very likeable," Zendar mumbled.

"My friend…" Nurza hesitated.

"What? Are you going to say something else about her?"

"No…I was going to ask…well…"

"Yes?"

"As the ambassador, given the nature of the next mission, I was wondering if you…can speak the tongue of the orcs."

Zendar blinked, then said quietly, "I know some of their speech. The orcs of Mordor, at least."

"I thought you might."

"It will do me no pleasure to force their disgusting words from my mouth after so long."

"Only if you have to. They probably speak Westron, and they may even speak Haradrim."

"I will pray that they do."

"You could do with some prayer," Nurza said seriously.

Zendar turned away. "Leave me now. I must plan for the attack."

"Very well. I will see to it that the construction of the new camp is underway."

-----------------------

The Black Hills.

It was a terrible destination, and Wormtail wished more than anything that he hadn't been so impulsive about going. He had wanted to get out of Isengard, yes. He had wanted to do it under Saruman's orders. But the rest of his fantasy escape conditions could not possibly be met.

He had imagined himself arriving at a great castle—perhaps Edoras itself, which Wormtongue had so often spoken of, although in his mind Edoras looked like Hogwarts—where, in the presence of a suspicious king—in his mind's image, Dumbledore sitting on his "throne" at the Head Table in the Great Hall—Wormtail could suddenly turn on his orc escort and decry Saruman. Of course, the brave castle guards would rush to defend him when the orcs inevitably would attack him for his betrayal, and Wormtail would be proclaimed a hero by the king and a worthy advisor. His life of crime would be all but forgotten.

But he wasn't going to a friendly castle. He was going to the Black Hills.

Before being sent out Wormtail had been further briefed on the people he would meet, but even then it hadn't occurred to him how bad an idea this was. Saruman had explained that the Black Hills were technically a part of the kingdom of Rohan, but they were mostly populated by tribes of men from Dunland, Rohan's greatest enemy, although exiles from Rohan also frequently fled to this place. Then the wizard revealed that after much fighting between Dunland and Rohan Saruman himself was sent to reconcile the two countries, settling in Isengard to prevent future conflict between them. He had prevented the Rohirrim from ever sending forces to drive out the tribes in the Black Hills, and the tribes themselves posed little threat because of their constant attentions to attacking one another. Still the people there were hated by Rohan.

And so the area came to be named the "Black" Hills, which was consistent with an observation Wormtail had made about the habit of anything evil in Middle-earth being labeled The "Black" Something.

And Wormtail was going there. There would be no castle, no wise Dumbledore-like king seated upon a throne, no trusting palace guards dashing to the rescue. As Wormtail thought about it more and more, the picture in his mind changed. The castle was a cave, and the "king" was just a chieftain—a man resembling the just-escaped Sirius Black whom Wormtail had encountered almost two years ago in the Shrieking Shack. The Sirius-Chief—dressed rather like a caveman—would welcome Wormtail and his orc escort with affectionate punches and bellow in a deep, gravelly voice that they should all drink some grog and tell stories about their mutual best friend Saruman.

The more he thought about it, the more obvious it was that Saruman would never send Wormtail on a persuasion mission if someone actually needed persuading; the White Wizard himself could do it magically, even Wormtongue could do it magically. Saruman was more likely hoping the creepy cavemen would kill him than expecting Wormtail would accomplish something.

Wormtail had considered running away, but the seven Uruk-Hai traveling with him all knew of his ability to turn into a rat and each one kept a close eye on him. Wormtail, increasingly paranoid, was convinced they were watching him to make sure he didn't escape; it didn't occur to him that the orcs were indeed spying on him, not based on Saruman's orders but rather a natural suspicion of the pathetic little man.

Thus it was that Wormtail was left with no choice. This wasn't his moment after all; he would go to the Black Hills, drink grog with Chief Crazy-Sirius, profess his undying love for Saruman, and return to Orthanc for his little pet-rat treat and an affectionate pat on the head.

_Someday_, Wormtail thought fiercely. _Not today, but someday, I will be free of him._


	4. Chapter 4: Confidants

A/N: A correction: Somehow the semi-OC Ithilien Ranger "Madril" from chapter one was turned into "Madlir" in chapter two, possibly from a combination of spontaneous dyslexia and a subconscious desire to make his name rhyme with an obscure obnoxious character from a video game. Anyway, I'm sticking with the real name, Madril.

Chapter 4: Confidants

"Where is Legolas?"

"Ah. You are awake."

"Where is he?"

Aragorn turned from her and placed something around his neck; Hermione figured that it must have been the Evenstar. Then he looked at her once again. "Legolas…_and Gimli_…left at sunrise to continue following the trail."

"But…then what are we doing here?"

"Our road is to the south now."

"We're leaving them?!" Hermione rose indignantly.

"You are suddenly so energetic," Aragorn said with raised eyebrows.

"I…where are we going?! And why didn't you wake me to tell me they were leaving?!"

"We have a long journey of our own to embark upon, and I thought you could use the rest."

Hermione opened her mouth angrily, then paused, realizing that the course change was probably an act of kindness on his part. "I…apologize. For my weakness."

"No woman could continue at that pace, and few could do what you have done already."

Hermione forced a smile, knowing this was a compliment from Aragorn. "Um…thanks."

"We are going to Edoras to see King Théoden of Rohan. We will be asking for his assistance in recovering our friends."

"Why didn't we do that earlier, instead of following the orcs?"

"Because it meant leaving the trail, and…" he paused. "And I did not wish for the Fellowship to be broken any more than it has, unless it was absolutely necessary," he added quietly.

Hermione slowly nodded. "I understand."

"Then rise and we shall be on our way."

Hermione did so, and they set off. Aragorn seemed very confident in the direction they were going, which pleased Hermione, who was wary about leaving the convenient trail behind them.

About an hour passed in silence before Hermione struck up a conversation.

"What is this King Théodred like?" she asked curiously, glad that they were now traveling at a pace slow enough for her to strike up a conversation.

"I knew him only in his youth."

"Oh, so he's young."

"No, he must be getting on in years now…" Aragorn thought for a moment. "His son must be older than you, even."

"Then how…oh, right! You're actually seventy years old, you said."

"Eighty-seven."

"Eighty-seven, then."

There was a pause, and Hermione glanced casually at Aragorn's face. He was staring ahead, scanning the terrain.

Now might be the perfect time.

Hermione hadn't known how to address her fears over his being a Parselmouth. Legolas had claimed that Aragorn wasn't hiding anything, but it was possible Legolas had been too comfortable with their friendship to notice anything. Or maybe he knew and it had just never come up. If speaking to snakes was common in Middle-earth Aragorn would never have cause to bring it up.

But if it wasn't common—or only common among evil people—then he was hiding it. And she needed to find out which it was without arousing suspicion.

The only thing which really encouraged her now was the fact that, while she was sleeping and Legolas and Gimli were gone, Aragorn hadn't taken the opportunity to murder her. Although it was very possible that on their own like this he might be leading her into a trap.

If she was anxious about being alone with him, he might notice. She needed to give him a chance to clear the matter up once and for all.

"Does King Théoden have any special powers?" she asked casually.

"Special powers? What do you mean by that?"

"I just mean…well, you're eighty-seven, like you said."

"He is not one of my people. The Dúnedain are descended from elves."

"Right, I recall you mentioning that," Hermione mumbled; talking about elves still reminded her of Boromir. "But anyway…well…in my world some people have magic and others don't. It's all very random. I was born with Muggle parents—non-magical parents—but I still have magical powers. And different people can do different things…Harry's godfather Sirius can turn into a dog. And Harry can talk to snakes."

Hermione studied Aragorn's expression; he continued to stare ahead.

When it was clear she had finished speaking, Aragorn commented, "There are people of that sort in this world as well."

"Of what sort?"

"The Beornings can transform themselves into bears. And wizards are known for their ability to speak to different creatures. It is said that Radagast the Brown could converse with or become any animal he chose."

"That's interesting," Hermione said. "But most humans don't have any abilities?"

"The Istari are hardly human, and the Beornings cannot be truly considered such either."

"So are you human?"

Aragorn smiled slightly. "That is an interesting question…but you said that you can use magic. So are _you_ human?"

He was being evasive; of that Hermione was certain now. All she could do was pretend not to notice it to remove suspicion.

She decided to laugh. "Well, I would certainly think so. I'm just a very gifted human, that's all. Maybe that's what you are."

"Maybe."

Aragorn seemed to have a darker aspect about him; Hermione feared that bringing up snakes had been too daring a move. It was stupid of her to have done this while alone with him!

She would have to be a lot closer to him if she didn't want him to realize how terrified she was. But could she do it?

Hermione closed her eyes, concentrating for a moment, and then looked sad. "Well…I know what I'm not."

"Excuse me?"

"I may not be exactly human, but I'm definitely not an elf."

"You certainly used to dress like one."

"Their clothing is very comfortable. And Arwen was so…"

Aragorn flinched and Hermione's eyes widened. "Oh, I'm sorry I brought her up, I…" her voice trailed off and suddenly she blushed. "Oh my God, I never realized before…"

"What?"

"It's just…" her blush deepened. "I was wearing her clothes all this time. Did that…upset you?"

Aragon looked away and cleared his throat; Hermione guessed that he might be blushing too. Even though she was genuinely embarrassed, she was glad at the turn this had taken. His mind would definitely be off her previous questions now.

"I have gone much longer without seeing her," Aragorn said.

"The length of time doesn't matter. I could go a whole summer without Harry and Ron, but ever since we left them a few days ago I've felt…empty."

Aragorn slowly nodded. "The feelings suddenly come upon you, all at once, and for no reason."

Now Aragorn was looking at her. Hermione felt extremely uncomfortable, especially considering that by her analysis she had all but proven he was an evil spy. But she had to persevere.

"I noticed you were looking at her necklace earlier."

"Yes, I…" Aragorn sighed. "I was praying I would never see her again."

"Because you want her to sail away with the rest of the elves."

"Yes."

"That must be very difficult for you."

Aragorn didn't answer.

"There's something I want to tell you," Hermione said quietly.

"Yes?"

"During the battle…when Boromir was in trouble…" Hermione's throat choked up; she disciplined herself to focus. She had to stay in control in front of Aragorn. "I tried to use elf magic," she said finally.

Aragorn actually stopped in his tracks. "What? How?"

"I invoked some words…I heard Legolas do it when he was shooting at that flying thing."

"What happened?"

Aragorn's eyes were wide and full of concern. He had just spoken about something very personal to her; she could do the same to him. She could tell him, like she had told no one else…

_Of course I can't tell him! Even if he wasn't a Parselmouth he would still hate me forever for what I did to Boromir._

"Nothing happened," she said finally. "Except…I felt drained, horribly drained…and…" her voice shook as she allowed a glimpse of the real truth. "And because I was so weak, that's why I failed. I failed to protect him, and I couldn't even defend myself when that orc came at me."

Aragorn put a hand on her cheek. "Boromir was slain by an evil beast while fighting to protect his friends. He died gloriously, the way he wanted to die. There was nothing you could have done."

_There was something I couldn't have done._ "Yes…you're right, of course…"

Aragorn smiled down at her, and Hermione swallowed. This was beyond awkward. For the first time she was finally growing close—very close—to this strange man, and it was after she was certain he was a liar.

"We must continue on, a bit faster now," Aragorn said, removing his hand from her face. "Let us see if we can find ourselves some horses and reach the orcs before Legolas and Gimli."

Hermione smiled. "All right."

Could she have been mistaken? She was certain she had seen him speaking Parseltongue to the snake, definitely hissing and sputtering like Harry had done. But could she have hallucinated the whole thing? How could this man be evil?

She suddenly remembered Lothlórien and how Aragorn had seemed so upset there. Galadriel had spoken to every single member of the Fellowship, even Neville, but not him. Hermione hadn't thought much of it at the time; she had considered him lucky, even, for not having to put up with the cruel woman. Galadriel had scorned her for her false elvish-ness, and she had hated the elf for it. But Galadriel had been right, and if she was willing to yell at Hermione and kindly warn several others Hermione wondered why she couldn't think of anything to say to Aragorn. Maybe Galadriel knew of his dark side and didn't want to reveal it…or maybe she herself was afraid of him.

Of course Aragorn had been speaking Parseltongue, and of course he had evaded her questions. His recent display of kindness was either an act of complacency or he knew she was onto him and he wanted her to like him more and doubt herself. Hermione looked upon him coldly again, again suspicious of what his real intentions might be, and as she continued along behind him she forgot the swell of affection she had felt for him with the warmth of his hand on her cheek.

----------------------

"This way, this way! Ahead they call these the _Dead_ Marshes…dead things there, no living things, no orcses…there are roads and hard ground for orcses, but we must not go to those, they would see us there. Sméagol can take you this way."

"Very good, Sméagol," Frodo said, and Gollum grinned at the praise.

Draco slouched a little as he followed Frodo and Sam, a good ways ahead of Harry and Ron. He himself didn't trust Gollum—he didn't believe for one moment that Gollum had actually "escaped" Sauron's grasp—and he thought it ridiculous that the party seemed to trust Gollum more than him.

Draco was extremely frustrated by the fact that Weasley hated him for something he had never done and Potter liked him for something he had lied about. He desperately wanted to tell them the truth—that he had killed his own father to protect Ginny—but once he revealed that he had lied about Voldemort killing his father they would never believe him again. Besides, Potter seemed to idolize his own dead father. The very idea of patricide would probably send the hero into a self-righteous fit…or shatter the naïve little boy's fragile heart.

When Malfoy had come to them, Harry and Ron had seen him as a dark stranger much older than the bully they remembered; to Draco, Potter and Weasley were still children. They had seen terrible things, certainly, but they hadn't experienced the darkness of pure evil the way Draco had in Mordor.

The most innocent-looking among the group was the one Draco was most drawn to on that level—Frodo. Frodo alone of the company seemed to share that darkness, and Draco wondered how that was possible. Finally, he decided to simply ask the hobbit, while Gollum bounded ahead of them in the dim, fading light.

When Draco approached Frodo he walked close to him and spoke in low tones, making it clear to Sam that their conversation was private. Frodo's friend took the opportunity to get ahead of them and watch Gollum more closely; Harry and Ron still lingered behind, out of earshot.

"I noticed your guide keeps complaining about the sunlight," Draco said.

"Oh…yes, he has been doing that," Frodo said with a sigh.

"He's wrong, you know. We wouldn't be spotted. The orcs don't like sunlight."

Frodo looked curiously at Draco. "So we have been told many times…but we were attacked on the shores of the Anduin before we came here. A large host of orcs had traveled a great distance and fought savagely even in the daylight."

Draco considered this for a moment. "Oh…those must have been Saruman's special orcs. In Mordor the orcs fear the light, and the land is kept forever dark."

"I cannot imagine what it must have been like to live there," Frodo said with a shudder.

"I think you can," Draco said quietly.

Frodo glanced away, alarmed. "I do not know what you mean."

"Potter said you are spying on Mordor to get information for Gondor. But what kind of surveillance are you getting, exactly? If you wanted to observe troop movements into the land you wouldn't be going this way, since your guide claims the orcs don't use it…and I don't think your superiors would like the idea of sending an army trudging through these marshes up ahead, where we'll probably be in single file."

Frodo continued to look away. "You have come from Mordor and your own intentions cannot be proven. You should not question mine."

"But it isn't just that," Draco continued, undeterred. "There's something else about you…something that you're hiding. If you weren't so obsessed with this guide of yours I'd guess you had been to Mordor yourself. You've got the feel of the place."

Frodo turned away; Draco grabbed his arm.

"Let go of me," Frodo said angrily.

"Listen to me," Draco whispered, glancing around; no one was watching them. "There is darkness in you. I can feel it. You think _I'm_ one who's not to be trusted? I think maybe Potter and I would be better off without _you_."

Frodo hesitated, then said, "All right…it was foolish of me to think I could hide it from you."

He reached into his shirt and pulled out the chain which held the Ring.

Even though they hadn't heard his statement, now suddenly everyone looked at him.

"Mr. Frodo!" Sam cried, rushing over; Gollum was at his heels, his eyes wide and focused on the Ring.

"It's all right, everyone," Frodo said quickly. "I have decided to show Malfoy what I was hiding. We should all trust one another here." He looked back at Draco. "Do you…"

Frodo stopped. Draco was staring at the Ring with a look of total disbelief; then, suddenly, he broke into laughter.

"What is so amusing?" Frodo asked.

"That! That…it's Sauron's, isn't it?"

The hand which grasped the chain shook, and Frodo whispered, "Do not speak that name again."

Draco blinked. He, too, had felt a shiver at the utterance of the name; apparently it really did hold power, unlike Voldemort's.

"I'm sorry," Draco said, shaking his head in amazement. "I just…" He couldn't help but smile. "There it is. The Ring S…the Ring he's so obsessed with. And you've just got it around your neck, like it's nothing."

"It is hardly nothing," Frodo said, placing it again under his shirt.

"You're right, I was able to sense its power…" Draco frowned. "Why are you bringing it to Mordor? You're not thinking of…handing it over, are you?"

"No, of course not," Frodo said quickly. "We are going to destroy it."

"Ah…" Draco smiled. "He won't be expecting that."

"What will he be expecting?"

"Well…I was told by his most trusted servant that the Ring was being brought to Gondor, to be used as a weapon by the Men."

"That was a suggestion, but I rejected it."

"You. You rejected it. You're…you're much more powerful than you seem, aren't you?"

Frodo thought for a moment, then said, "No, not powerful at all. I am merely a hobbit."

He walked away to speak with Sam, who had been eying the two ever since Frodo had pulled out the Ring.

"He's a tricky one, isn't he, Mr. Frodo?" Sam said.

"We should never have waited for them," Frodo said, with a pained look.

"For Master Harry and Ron? But Mr. Frodo, Dumbledore was gone and they were all alone…"

"I don't care," Frodo said, rather harshly. "We didn't think this through at all."

"Think what through?"

"When we destroy the Ring, we destroy Barad-Dur. We destroy Ginny."

Sam's eyes widened. "That's bad…" Then he thought for a moment. "Well, we'll just have to destroy it after they rescue her, won't we?"

"After they rescue her?!" Frodo cried, then lowered his voice. "Oh, Sam…the Enemy will find out that we are going to destroy the Ring, and He will have every orc in Mordor surrounding the volcano."

"Harry and Ron would never tell…"

"They will be captured and they will be tortured," Frodo said sharply. "And He will know everything, and He will stop us."

"Don't say such things, Mr. Frodo," Sam said, knitting his brow. "If Mr. Malfoy really was working for the Enemy…why, he could have snatched the Ring from you just a minute ago, couldn't he? He really wants to help Ginny, he says, and he knows things about that tower. He can help Master Harry and Ron, there and back again."

"Of course, Sam," Frodo said quietly and unconvincingly. "You are right. I simply…I simply have not felt confidence in our mission since Gandalf died."

"I think this Malfoy fellow will turn out to be a blessing," Sam said, neglecting to mention Gollum.

"Yes…well…we should continue to follow Gollum closely. I have a feeling that the closer we get to this bog the closer together we must walk."

--------------------------

"Merry! Do you hear that?"

Merry groaned and opened his eyes drowsily. "Wha…"

"There's horses! Someone is coming…"

"Horses? Orcs don't ride horses, Pip."

"I know! It must be someone else…"

Pippin couldn't turn his neck around far enough to see, and he was strapped to the back of an Uruk-Hai bent on moving forward. He did, however, notice Neville might be in a position to help.

Neville, deemed too large to carry on anyone's back, was tied by the wrists and dragged along behind the orcs. This meant that his experience as a prisoner was much more miserable than the two hobbits', although the semi-conscious Merry and oblivious Pippin didn't really notice his struggle to continue moving his now stick-thin legs in pace with the powerful orcs.

"Neville, what do you see?" Pippin asked, and there was so much shouting among the orcs that no one noticed the prisoners conversing.

Neville turned around, still walking straight. "They're…" he squinted his eyes. "Ah, I'm not really sure…"

Suddenly the orc band halted. The prisoners were thrown to the ground and guarded by five large orcs with swords pointed at them; the rest of the orcs gathered in front of them, shielding them from the view of the oncoming horsemen but not entirely blocking the prisoners' views of the other.

As one of the horsemen dismounted and came closer, the three could see him very clearly.

"Whoa," Neville said, raising his eyebrows.

"What is _that_?" Pippin asked. "It's not an orc…"

"Of course not, he's a human," Neville said.

"Like enough to an orc," Merry mumbled.

"How can you say that?!" Neville whispered back angrily. "We don't know if he's good or evil."

Merry and Pippin glanced at one another, obviously assuming Neville had gone quite insane.

Meanwhile, Zendar glanced about at the orcs. "_Your leader_?" he demanded in the Black Speech of Mordor.

Several of the orcs hesitated; then one of the darker-skinned ones said, in Westron, "He asks for the leader."

"I am leader," a larger lighter orc declared in Westron, "and I do not speak the tongue of the Mordor filth."

There was much hissing and jostling from the orc crowd at this statement.

"My name is Uglúk," the orc leader continued. "What are you? You seem neither man nor orc."

"It is a man," the Mordor orc said, and he stepped in front of Uglúk. "_I am Grishnákh,_" he continued in Black Speech. "_And what brings a man of Harad to these parts? Has the Great Eye sent you to watch over these incompetent Isengarders?_"

"What do you say to him?!" Uglúk demanded in Westron.

"_We will speak more later_," Zendar said to Grishnákh, and then he looked to Uglúk once more. "I am Zendar of the Haradrim. My people come to this land sore for sport, and Whiteskins are best sport."

Uglúk laughed heartily. "That they are. Well, there are plenty enough villages to burn!"

Zendar smiled. "Yes, we might burn villages, friend, but you not burning villages? What are you doing?"

Uglúk hesitated. "Well…we are delivering some prisoners to Lord Saruman, if you must know."

"Prisoners? Who prisoners?"

"That is Lord Saruman's business."

"Whiteskins are everywhere. You need help. I have men."

Uglúk stomped forward and narrowed his eyes at the fearsomely-clad man. "Just to be clear, the prisoners are to go directly to Lord Saruman. None of your men can touch them, not even get close, or they'll be gutted. And no thoughts of taking them to your master down south. You try any double-crossing and you'll have a wizard to deal with."

Zendar clapped a hand to Uglúk's spiky shoulder. "We are friends now. I do not hurt orcs or prisoners. I will tell my men."

Uglúk grunted and Zendar departed, leaving a few Haradrim behind watching the orcs curiously.

"Are these Men to be trusted?" a goblin hissed warily.

"The Dark Lord trusts them," Grishnákh said. "He spoke the Black Speech. He is one of us."

A few feet away Merry and Pippin were looking smugly at Neville.

"Okay, I guess you're right," Neville resigned with a sigh.

"Our captors have made a new friend," Merry said darkly.

------------------------

"Anything from the report?"

"There was no report today. And with sunset now there is unlikely to be one until tomorrow."

"Ah. That's too bad."

"Yes, it is certainly a pity."

Tonks cleared her throat and picked at her plate, very conscious of the fact that Faramir was staring at her. He did that often. Zendar, too, had stared at her when they would dine together, although when he did it it was with a look of wonder; Faramir seemed more to be carefully studying her.

Tonks was convinced that it was only because she was this strange foreigner that Faramir was so curious. She refused to believe that this complete stranger had any feelings for her…even though over the past few days he seemed to have been making small efforts to be less of a stranger.

Stranger or no, she wouldn't stop being a prisoner to him unless Faramir received word from his superiors that it was all right to release her and Dahrik. Even though Faramir was confident his appeal for their freedom would be granted, Tonks was much more skeptical. Faramir alone among his men seemed to possess a genuine acceptance of all human beings, and she felt that she herself was only tolerated by the others because she was a woman. After all, while she was dining with the handsome Captain, Dahrik was locked in a cage. Tonks feared that even if orders came for her release, Dahrik might still be held, or even worse.

But Faramir was a kind man. If his orders were to execute Dahrik, she was confident he would refuse, or at least fight with his superiors long enough to give them time to escape.

Tonks had convinced Dahrik to wait until Faramir's orders came back before they would make an attempt at escape. This didn't mean he hadn't come up with a plan; Dahrik would use his special relationship with Madril to get out of the cage, and Tonks would impersonate the sycophantic young Mablung. All they needed to do was get out of the cavern and make a run for it; Faramir wouldn't be willing to send his men chasing after them for very long, especially since they were going toward Mordor.

But there was no point in thinking about it right now. The orders hadn't come in yet.

Still, maybe it was better than thinking about him staring at her.

"Do you…" Tonks started, when she was interrupted by Mablung.

"Captain Faramir," Mablung said, looking very tired, "there is a messenger here, from Osgiliath…"

"Send him in immediately."

Mablung nodded. An even more exhausted soldier entered, carrying a large pack and looking very curiously at Tonks. The first time a messenger had seen her he had been shocked and affronted; news must have traveled quickly. Tonks was surprised that the messengers would be the gossiping sort.

"Speak, soldier," Faramir ordered, trying to get his attention off of Tonks.

"Y…yes sir," the soldier said slowly. "But sir…I think perhaps I should give you this information alone."

"Is it confidential?"

"Well…not exactly…"

"Then why should she be sent away?"

"But sir…"

"This woman is…"

"Sir," the messenger interrupted harshly, "with all due respect to the lady, you will want to hear this alone."

Faramir blinked. "I see…Lady Nymphadora, please wait outside with Mablung."

Tonks went outside the section of the cavern that was Faramir's "room," behind the curtain with Mablung.

Mablung was edging at the doorway as though trying to listen in, so Tonks attempted to divert his attention. "What is Osgiliath?"

"Hm?" Mablung said, blinking. "Oh…Osgiliath? You…you have not heard of it?"

She shook her head.

"Well…" he hesitated. "It is good you did not ask the Captain this. It is rather more of a curse for him."

"A curse? I thought it was a place."

"It is a place," Mablung said quickly. "It's a very strategically-located city. The Captain has had little luck holding it…but it is no fault of his own! He is a brilliant commander. It is simply physically impossible to keep the city well-defended with the numbers of orcs that have been pouring out of the Black Land."

"Ah."

After a pause, Mablung started edging toward the curtain again, but the sounds of voices from inside had stopped and the messenger exited, looking grim.

Mablung hurriedly attended to him; Tonks stood confusedly, wondering what to do. Faramir hadn't called her back in. Maybe he just assumed she would walk in herself.

She hesitantly opened the curtain a little. "Captain Faramir?"

His face was ashen, and he was holding something—a letter, she supposed—under the table. "Oh, yes…of course, you must finish your dinner," he said quietly.

"Captain…if you want to be alone, I perfectly underst…"

"No, no, come in."

Tonks reluctantly entered and resumed her seat. She took a few bites of her dinner before asking, "Are you going to eat yours?"

"I have no will to eat at this moment."

She put her utensil down and looked concernedly at him. "I know you can't talk about it, but…"

"I do not see it as a great military secret," Faramir said quietly, and he placed on top of the table what he had been holding. It wasn't a letter; it was a strange object.

"I…don't know what that is," Tonks said, frowning.

"It is a fragment," Faramir said, and his eyes had welled up with tears. "A fragment of the Horn of Gondor…which was carried by my brother."

Tonks bit her lip. She wasn't exactly sure how to take this; was this a confirmation of his brother's death? A bad omen? Was he upset with his idiot brother for breaking a special horn? Did it have some sort of magical properties?

"I'm sorry," was all she could say.

Faramir nodded, clearing his throat and blinking his eyes, but the tears still fell. "I saw him," he said quietly. "In a vision. I told everyone it was only a dream. I knew they would think I had gone mad. But I saw him. I knew he was slain. I knew it deep in my heart…but I refused to believe…and now this washes up on shore…"

Faramir turned his face away from her, then stood and walked to the other side of the room, facing away. Tonks rose as well and walked over to him; she reached out her hand and took his, looking up into his face. "Hey…this is a…it's a terrible thing. I really am sorry. If you want, I could leave you…or I could stay here, and you could…you could tell me more about your brother, or…"

Faramir looked at her; then he let go of her hand. He touched her face, then suddenly kissed her.

…_Or you could do that._

Tonks wished she could feel total empathy for the man. She wished she could burst into tears at the sight of his pain, maybe even genuinely and earnestly kiss him back to comfort him. But in truth she was just completely uncomfortable.

Dahrik had provided her with an escape from the drama at the Haradrim camp, and as much as she wanted to complete their mission she knew half the reason she had gone was to get away from Zendar and Lupin. She liked Captain Faramir—she really did—and she had hoped so desperately that they could just be friends and it wouldn't be awkward.

"Gods, I am sorry! I beg your pardon…please, that was…so impulsive of me, I…I cannot imagine why I…"

"It's okay," Tonks said hurriedly; the sight of him stammering an apology brought on some empathy. "Really…you just received some very disturbing news, and it was bound to make you somewhat irrational…"

"No, no, you do not understand, I am not…I would never…"

Faramir was backing away from her; Tonks realized he didn't need a pardon from her, he needed one from himself.

"Faramir," she said, calling him by name, "I forgive you. Completely. Please, just take my hand."

She held out her hand; he stared at it as though afraid it would try to strangle him.

"Please," Tonks insisted.

Faramir hesitantly placed his hand in hers.

"You've had a very frightening shock. You need to sit down."

Faramir nodded absently, and she led him to his fairly soft sleeping mat.

Tonks sat next to him, still holding his hand. "Just breathe slowly and try to relax."

"My father…my father always said that I…was weak," Faramir said, and although he seemed a little calmer fresh tears were still flowing. "Boromir would play-fight, and I would sit with my books…and he…he said…he said I was his sister. He would call me that…'Little Sister.' I was…he was merely jesting, of course, but I…how I would cry at night, when I thought of that name…I suppose that did not help prove my virtue."

"Boromir…was that your brother's name?"

"Yes."

This seemed strangely familiar to Tonks, but she assumed it was just because of its similarity to Faramir's own name. "What was he like?"

Faramir smiled through his tears. "He was…great, and brave…a true warrior…and though he fought well with sword and shield, right alongside the men, he was…a brilliant strategist. The Battle of Osgiliath…my brother could do for that city what no man before or since will ever do."

"Did he look like you?"

"Look…yes, he did. Except that…he was always bigger and stronger. He took after our father more. In appearance and manner. And he…"

"Oh my God!" Tonks suddenly exclaimed.

Faramir was rudely awakened from his calm nostalgia trip. "What?! What…what is it?"

"I…I'm sorry, I just…I think I may have met him."

"You…that is certainly impossible."

"No, no…this man…he was traveling…he said he had lost his guide, he was…yes, he looked rather like you…I study people's faces, I'm usually very good at remembering faces. And he was on some kind of secret mission, he wanted directions to…somewhere, I can't remember where. But I remember…he was dressed very well, and he had this gigantic shield…"

"Gods," Faramir whispered. "Where was this?"

"It was…near Isengard."

"Isengard?"

"Yes…yes, it was…"

Faramir suddenly let go of her hand. All signs of grief were gone from his face; now he looked horrified.

"What?" Tonks asked, frowning.

"What were you doing there?"

Tonks froze. Of course. She had made a grave mistake. Isengard was far west of here; Harad and Mordor were east. She could no longer pretend that she and Dahrik had been caught in Ithilien simply wandering a bit far from home.

"I…" Tonks swallowed. "I don't know what to say. I told you that I…couldn't tell you our mission."

"Have you had dealings with Saruman? Or…or with Rohan?"

"I haven't…"

"How did you come to meet my brother?" Faramir asked, standing up and looking down at her aggressively.

"I told you, he needed directions…"

"So he asked a Haradrim woman where the western Elves lived?!"

"I…had never heard of the place he was looking for…"

"He would not have told you the place he was looking for! He would not have spoken to you at all! He would be more likely to murder you than ask you for directions, a Haradrim warrior woman traveling through the Gap of Rohan!"

"I wish I could explain…"

"You arrived here just after my vision of his death! Did you aid those who killed him?!"

Tonks shot up. "No! I didn't! I swear to you, I had nothing to do with him…"

"You knew all along who I was…you came here knowing who I was, you and your friend, both of you speaking such excellent Westron…"

"Fa…"

"What was your plan? Were you going to seduce my men into giving you information before your partner killed them?"

"No…"

"Is that what you did to my brother?!"

Tonks bolted for the curtain; Faramir lunged at her and grabbed one arm, but she grasped the curtain with the other and tore it from the wall. "Help me, please!" she cried out.

While her scream would surely echo throughout the rest of the cavern, the nearest soldier was Anborn, the disgraced ex-Ranger who had been taken off of patrol because of Dahrik's false accusation against him.

He was certainly confused by the spectacle of his benevolent captain assaulting a seemingly defenseless woman, but he wasn't about to jump to her rescue after what had happened to him. He hesitated.

Tonks was about to cry out again when Faramir suddenly shoved her outside in Anborn's direction. "Lock her up! The same as the other!"

"Yes sir," Anborn said, pulling out a dagger.

"You're making a terrible mistake," Tonks sobbed to Faramir, but the captain's back was turned to her as he went deeper into his chamber.

"So, what did you do?" Anborn hissed into Tonks' ear as he led her toward the makeshift dungeon, passing other shocked and confused Rangers. "Did you try to bewitch the Captain?"

"He is mad with grief…"

"He is finally wising up to you people, like I should have. I cannot believe I ever defended you. Madril was wrong, though. You are not animals. You are not like those filthy orcs. You are evil in a seductive package…but you cannot fool anyone, really, because the Blackness shows through."

Tonks glared menacingly at him but found no reason to say more. It would be difficult, but not impossible, to escape, and at least she knew that was the only option now.

----------------------------

"Ay! Look at this!"

"Whatcha gabbing about?"

Sirius continued forward, seemingly unfazed, ignoring the two men. He was, however, watching them out of the corner of his eye, and he was ready to run at any moment.

"Oy! It's a pooch!"

"Ain't seen one like that for a while, eh?"

"Big and black…"

"Yeah, big and black."

"You don't think…"

There was a pause.

"Well, he's a cute one," the first man said, with a light change in tone. "Oy! Pup! Come here!"

He clapped his hands several times; Sirius looked up at him.

"Come here!" the haggard-looking man said, motioning for him to come forward.

Sirius cautiously approached; the man scratched his head. "Looks about right, eh?"

"I'd say so."

Suddenly they both raised spears at Sirius.

"Come on, pooch," one man said. "You're coming with us."

Sirius growled when one man poked his side with the tip of his spear, but he went along where they led him, trying not to behave in any way unlike a regular dog. He had no idea where they were taking him, and he didn't have the mental energy to formulate an explanation.

His trip to the Black Hills had hardly gone as planned. They were much farther away than they had seemed on a map, and as he journeyed Sirius needed food and water; these he begged for from friendly townsfolk. In a much smaller village he had stolen a horse, and this had made the going much easier.

Now he had reached his destination. The place was hardly what he had been expecting; there was a fortress under construction, and various wild-looking men were at work building walls at the foot of a series of hills. On these hills were settlements that also appeared to have been constructed very recently. Sirius was faced with a miniature, poor-quality copy of Edoras.

He was very intrigued by this, and he had transformed into a dog for a closer look. That was when two of the "wild" men, apparently assuming the role of wardens for the as-yet nonexistent gate, had discovered him and decided to herd him with their spears.

And so he was being led along, up a road toward the top of the hill. It was a fairly steep climb, and difficult due to the lack of a decent road. Sirius longed for an escape opportunity but none presented itself; the spears poked at him even when he went the right way, so they were a hair's breadth from piercing the skin if he made a sudden move. He might have had a chance lunging at one of the men if they had been using swords, but the spears were far too long.

As he got closer to the top, he realized that the structure they were approaching did look vaguely like the palace at Edoras from the outside, but once he was in it he saw nothing resembling the familiar halls of Meduseld. It seemed that the designers of this cheap copy had never even been inside the real place.

By far the strangest thing about the place was the fact that a young teenage boy was seated casually on a throne that did look like it was made out of valuable materials. The boy seemed strange not only because of his age but also his appearance; while the two men escorting him (as well as the workers outside) were rough-looking men with long dark hair and beards, the boy was decidedly Rohirric, with golden hair and bright blue eyes as well as a much finer outfit.

"What an interesting creature," he said, cocking his head to one side as the two men approached, still prodding Sirius forward.

"We were told to bring 'em in, Lord Teromer," one of his captors said.

"Told to…why yes, of course." He jumped from the throne and walked over to Sirius, scrutinizing him. "Yes, there does seem to be an intelligence there."

Sirius looked away and licked his paw, trying to appear as unintelligent as possible. He didn't know what these men wanted with him and he hoped they would just let him go…at least long enough for him to transform so he could meet these strange people in person.

"Grarg, could you get Lord Peter please?" Teromer asked one of Sirius' guards.

"Aye," Grarg said, and he hurried off.

_Lord Peter?_ Sirius thought warily.

Grarg returned…with none other than Peter Pettigrew.

"That's him!" Wormtail cried immediately. "Don't let him…"

But Sirius was already on his way out. He found it blocked, however, by three "palace" guards with long spears pointed at him. He immediately spun around, growling and baring his teeth; Grarg and the other guard were advancing with spears, but Teromer and Wormtail were weaponless.

"Don't hurt him!" Wormtail cried to the guards, and then he looked at Sirius. "Please, don't make this difficult…I don't want to fight you!"

Sirius barked threateningly, grateful that his present form wouldn't allow for unnecessary conversation.

"Lord?" Grarg said nervously, still holding his spear firmly. "If that beast attacks…"

"He is not a beast," Teromer said, and he slowly approached Sirius. "And he has my word that there shall be no violence in these halls."

Sirius was about to bare his teeth as a response to that pathetic attempt when he realized it would probably be smarter to pretend to go along with them; that way he could catch them off guard by suddenly transforming and then either attacking or running away.

Therefore, Sirius relaxed.

"Padfoot, it's okay," Wormtail said. "You can transform in front of them. I already have. We need to talk."

Sirius consented to transforming, but only with the intent to somehow get his human hands around Wormtail's throat.

"Gods!" several of the men cried, making signs; Teromer looked very entertained. "Bravo," he said. "Men, please, lower your weapons!"

They did so.

"Now I can introduce myself properly…I am Lord Teromer of the White Hills."

"Sirius Black," Sirius said, focusing all his attention on Teromer and ignoring Wormtail. "I thought I was in the Black Hills. Did I make a wrong turn somewhere?"

"We found the term denigrating."

"Ah."

"Peter here told our guards to keep an eye out for an animal matching your description…as well as your human appearance, of course."

"What can I offer you in exchange?"

"Excuse me?"

"Wormtail and I have some unfinished business. He killed my friends and I need to kill him. But the two of you seem to be friends, so…I'm assuming he offered you something. Maybe I can do better."

Sirius didn't see Wormtail's expression, but he imagined the rat was horrified. Teromer looked highly amused. "And they called _us_ uncivilized."

"I'm not asking for much. In fact, all I ask is that you leave me alone with him for a few seconds. That should take care of it."

"Padfoot, please," Wormtail said, although Sirius still didn't look at him. "I want to atone for what happened…I'm trying to do good here, with these people! Teromer, tell him! Tell him all the good things I did!"

"Peter here was sent by Saruman to make sure we had loyalties to the wizard," Teromer said, "but instead he told us of Saruman's corruption and has begged us to declare ourselves allies of Rohan. It is not easy for my people to support our greatest enemy, but…if every man, woman, and child in Rohan is going to be slaughtered the way Peter describes then we cannot sit idly by."

This boy leader was more than he seemed; he talked like a diplomat, and Sirius wouldn't get anywhere trying to pry Wormtail off of him. He might have a chance attacking Wormtail if there weren't so many guards around. If he could get Wormtail close to him, with fewer guards, he might have a chance to snap the traitor's neck before he himself was killed. Sirius was determined to kill Wormtail even if it meant he wouldn't live through it himself.

He now looked at Wormtail. "We need to talk. Alone."

"I…I'm afraid, you said you wanted to kill me…"

"You can keep these two here guarding me," Sirius said, gesturing toward Grarg and the other man whose name he did not know. "They got me all the way up to the palace."

Wormtail hesitated, then said, "All right, follow me then."

Sirius followed, closely guarded by Grarg and the other man. They went down a hallway and into a room that was about where Éowyn's chambers had been in Edoras. Sirius quickly banished any thoughts of the woman he had left behind; he needed to stay focused.

Once they were inside what were apparently Wormtail's private chambers, he said, "Well, Padfoot…here we are."

"You're calling yourself Peter now," Sirius said quietly, knowing that he needed to keep Wormtail distracted so he wouldn't be expecting an attack. "I don't think anyone ever called you that."

"My mother called me that," he said with a slight smile. "And…I wish that the name 'Wormtail' reminded me of my friends…but when I hear that name in my head it's always Voldemort or Saruman saying it, commanding me."

"Last time we met you said Saruman was your friend, and you were his equal."

"He was manipulating me."

"Ah."

"Sirius…I want you to understand, I…I've changed. I want to do good, to make up for what I've destroyed."

_Like you could ever just 'make up for' James!_ "Remus believed you could redeem yourself."

"Remus…yes…have you seen him? Since that night?"

"No."

Wormtail bowed his head. "I…am sorry for how that…almost went. It's a blessing the full moon came and stopped me from killing you."

_Not a blessing for you._ "He and Tonks may both be dead. I don't know. Wormtongue made it sound like he knew something about them, but I could never get him to tell me."

"Wormtongue? Wait…you were in contact with him?"

"I was in Edoras with him. For a long time."

"He never told me that."

"He said he didn't like you very much," Sirius lied, enjoying the discomfort on Wormtail's face.

"Well…he was a cruel man, anyway. Always fantasizing about that girl he had a thing for…what was her name?"

Sirius flinched, and Wormtail saw it. "What's wrong?"

"Her name was Éowyn."

"Right…" he paused. "Sirius?"

"Yes?"

"Did you know this woman?"

"I…she was a friend."

Wormtail raised his eyebrows. To Sirius' extreme annoyance, the two idiotic guards also exchanged looks and smirks. _Change of plan. I have to kill all three._

"I'm not trying to make fun of you," Wormtail said quickly. "I…respected her, in a way, from Wormtongue's stories, because it sounded like she always rejected him."

"She…was in love with another man."

"Not _you_?"

This conversation was becoming increasingly ridiculous…and yet, maybe that's exactly what he needed. "Well," Sirius said, averting Wormtail's inquiring gaze.

Wormtail took a step closer…_Yes, keep coming closer you little bastard._ "Sirius? Really? You and that princess?"

"It was complicated," Sirius mumbled, trying to calculate how he would attack.

"I can't…" Wormtail paused. "Look at us, talking about girls like we're back at Hogwarts."

_Like I ever talked about girls with you when we were at Hogwarts._ "It…is a little strange."

"Sirius…I know we'll never be friends like we were. I can accept that. But…" Wormtail hesitated, then focused on Sirius' eyes and said, slowly, "but I need you to trust me. And…short of that…just try to help me. Help me undo some of my wrongs."

Sirius' eyes met Wormtail's and something strange happened; his body, tense in preparation to strike, relaxed, and for a moment he thought, _Wouldn't it just be easier to help him?_

But then he remembered the first time he had ever seen Éowyn. She was helping him escape, but Wormtongue interfered, telling her to leave it to him, and she was transfixed…

Hypnotized.

Of course. Saruman or Wormtongue had been teaching him some tricks.

Sirius was prepared to leap at that moment when he suddenly realized something.

_My God. It's so obvious._

"You're not the only one who has things to atone for," Sirius said quietly. "And I have to admit…I didn't come here looking to save anyone. I came here because I was running away."

"From what?"

"From people I had hurt…and killed."

Sirius' eyes stung and he realized he was actually tearing up. He had forced himself not to think about Éowyn and Théodred for so long, and that hadn't resolved his pain.

"I…see," Wormtail said quietly. "Then…all the more reason for us to work together. You and me. We can save Rohan from Saruman…we can find your friends, too. The girl, and Remus."

Sirius almost lost his composure at the mention of Remus, but he calmed himself. "Yes," he said finally. "All right. As you said…I don't completely trust you, but…I'll help you."

He extended his hand.

Wormtail hesitated for a few seconds. Obviously if Sirius were intending to fight him at any point it would be now. But then he reached out and took Sirius' hand.

Wormtail looked straight into Sirius' eyes, still holding his hand. "Go," he said suddenly to the two guards.

"Sir?" the one who wasn't Grarg said.

"_Go_."

They exited. Sirius and Wormtail were alone, still grasping hands.

"If you want to kill me, do it," Wormtail said. "If you think my fate should be to die here, by your hand, rather than to redeem myself by preventing further destruction, then do it."

Sirius stared long and hard at him, and then said, "It isn't my place to determine your fate."

"Two years ago your godson decided to spare me…and it must have seemed such a terrible mistake. But ever since that moment…I have had doubts. And now, finally, I know what I want to do. I served Saruman for so long, and he and Voldemort's armies are going to crush these innocent people. Someone has to help defend them."

"And I…hurt these people, for selfish reasons…so I, too, need to make up for it."

Wormtail smiled, squeezing Sirius' hand and then letting it go. "Together, then, my old friend."

Sirius nodded.

"I will tell Teromer."

Wormtail left.

Sirius stood in the empty room. Then he smiled.

_It is not your fate to be a martyr, my old friend. It is not your fate to die at the hands of your enemy, killed because he decided your self-righteousness didn't suit him. If you had any true sense of right you would kill yourself._

_You've proven you still have no dignity. You've proven that your motives are the same as ever. You pick the winners. You flip sides when it's convenient for you. You must know something about Saruman. You think he's going to lose, so you're hopping the fence. _

_But it's not enough for you to switch sides. You're not Snivellus. You need constant praise and approval from those around you. And so you decide to be my 'friend.' You go so far as to attempt to hypnotize me so that you can hear me say that I will help you, despite everything._

_And I will help you. I will help you destroy Saruman, and I will be your friend. I will treat you with more kindness and appreciation than I ever did at Hogwarts. And then, when Rohan is saved, I will murder you. I will spit in your face and slit your throat._

_I spent all these years thinking that the only suitable end for you would be to die at the hands of the enemies you made, but that was foolish. No, Peter…the only end for you is to die at the hands of your dearest friends._


End file.
